A 


FATAL  RESEMBLANCE 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

EDWARD   ELLEKTON 


NEW  YORK 

F.    P.    LENNON 

19  ASTOR  PLACE 

1885 


COPYRIGHTED  BY 

F.    P.    LENNON, 

1885. 


8TETTINER,    LAMBERT  4    CO., 
129    *    131    CROSBY   ST.,    NEW   YORK. 


1AA.VA 


L?  F3 


A  FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 


i. 

IN  a  little  nook  among  the  Cat-skill  Mountains,  where 
fifty  years  ago  one  might  least  expect  to  find  a  residence, 
comparatively  inaccessible  as  the  mountains  were  then, 
there  stood  an  old  stone  farm-house.  Recent  coats  of 
whitewash  had  daubed  the  exterior  walls,  but*  in  many 
places  the  action  of  the  weather  had  turned  the  white  to 
a  dirty  gray  and  otherwise  mottled  the  primitive-looking 
building. 

A  little  distance  from  the  house  was  a  very  roughly 
built  barn,  around  which,  on  this  bright  summer  after 
noon  of  1835,  straggled  a  couple  of  cows.  Beyond  lay 
a  patch  of  ground  sparsely  cultivated,  owing  probably  to 
the  sterility  of  the  soil,  and  a  little  farther  away  still 
were  the  many-seried  trees  of  an  extensive  wood.  In 
the  background  rose  lofty  mountains,  now  so  covered  by 
a  blue  misty  haze  that  one  could  hardly  tell  where  the 
mountains  ended  and  the  sky  began. 

There  was  a  pleasant,  restful  look  about  the  scene,  and 
a  drowsiness  that  might  lull  one  to  delightful  uncon 
sciousness,  were  it  not  for  the  advent  of  a  lively  lit 
tle  girl  from  the  farm-house.  She  came  out  skipping 
and  singing,  and  twirling  her  calico  sun-bonnet  round  her 
hand  instead  of  putting  it  on,  and  looking  with  her 
streaming  hair,  bright  face,  and  step  that  hardly  touched 
the  ground,  as  if  she  might  be  some  little  mountain 


2  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

sprite  who  only  showed  herself  in  the  sunshine.  Skip 
ping  and  singing,  she  took  her  way  to  the  wood.  Evi 
dently  it  was  no  new  nor  fearful  place  to  her.  The 
close  ranks  of  the  trees  and  the  heavy  shade  of  the  inte 
rior  that  might  have  daunted  older  and  bolder  hearts,  had 
no  terror  for  her  young  confidence. 

She  penetrated  the  dark  recesses,  springing  from  emi 
nence  to  eminence,  where  the  ground  between  some  of 
the  trees  rose  into  hillocks,  and  she  pushed  aside — and 
sometimes  it  needed  all  her  tiny  strength — the  young 
brandies  that,  having  twined,  obstructed  her  path.  Occa 
sionally  she  stopped  to  watch  the  ugly  hoptoads  that, 
scared  at  her  approach,  jumped  by  her,  and  to  look  at 
some  great,  long-legged  insect  making  its  toilsome  journey 
up  a  tree. 

"  How  sorry  I  am  for  you,"  she  said  in  one  of  those 
halts,  "  for  I  guess  you  must  have  been  naughty,  and  God 
turned  you  from  birds  and  butterflies  into  these  ugly 
things.  Just  like  the  little  girl  that  Dyke  read  about  to  me 
the  other  night,  how  the  fairy  turned  her  into  a  frog.  He 
said  it  wasn't  a  true  story,  but  it  seems  like  as  if  it  might 
be  true,  for  folks  that  ain't  good  ought  to  be  turned  into 
ugly  things.  Try  and  be  good,  now,  poor  toads  and  bugs, 
and  maybe  God'll  turn  you  back." 

With  which  salutary  advice  she  resumed  her  way. 
Arriving  at  one  part  of  the  wood  where  the  trees  seemed 
of  larger  trunk  and  higher  growth  than  any  of  the  others, 
she  paused  as  if  she  had  reached  the  end  of  her  journey. 

Far  above  her  through  the  leaves  shone  a  little  patch  of 
bright  blue  sky,  while  all  about  her  was  that  intense  soli 
tude  so  oppressive  to  some  natures.  Neither  the  twitter- 
ering  of  a  bird  nor  the  rustling  of  a  leaf  broke  the  silence, 
and  after  she  had  stood  as  if  waiting  for  some  sound,  she 
put  her  little  brown  hand  on  the  nearest  tree,  and  said  to 
it  affectionately : 

"  I  couldn't  come  out  here  this  morning  because  Meg  was 
sick,  and  Dyke  asked  me  not  to  leave  her.  But  I  can 
stay  with  you  this  afternoon,  and  I've  lots  to  tell  you,  and 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  3 

a  story  besides — the  story  that  Dyke  read  to  me  last  night 
about  a  wicked  old  Roman  king.  I'll  tell  it  all  to  you, 
only  first  I  must  speak  to  the  other  trees." 

She  went  about  to  three  or  four  of  the  stately  maples, 
patting  their  trunks  affectionately,  and  telling  them  she 
was  glad  they  were  so  well  and  had  so  many  bright  green 
leaves,  to  which  it  is  needless  to  say  the  trees  listened  in 
silence. 

As  if  impressed  by  that  silence  herself,  when  she  re 
turned  to  the  tree  she  had  addressed  first,  instead  of  be 
ginning  to  impart  her  promised  information,  she  stood 
looking  up  to  the  patch  of  sky  that  beamed  down  upon 
her  blue  and  clear. 

"  O  trees,  if  you  could  only  speak !  "  she  said  at  length, 
"  wouldn't  you  have  a  lot  to  tell — way  up  there  so  high, 
it  seems  as  if  God  was  always  talking  to  you.  I  wonder 
if  He  ever  lets  you  see  heaven  that  Meg  tells  me  about  ? 
I'd  like  to  be  a  squirrel  or  some  of  them  climbing  things, 
and  then  I'd  live  on  the  top  of  the  highest  tree  I  could 
find,  and  so  I'd  hear,  too,  what  God  says  to  you  all." 

A  breeze  was  beginning  to  rustle  the  leaves.  The  im 
aginative  child  immediately  interpreted  it  to  mean  a 
clamor  from  the  trees  for  her  promised  news. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  as  if  in  haste  to  allay 
their  impatience. 

"  Meg  got  a  letter  yesterday.  Old  farmer  Brown,  com 
ing  up  from  the  village,  brought  it,  and  I  think  it  made 
her  awful  sad,  for  she  and  Dyke  talked  about  it,  but  they 
didn't  let  me  hear ;  only  Dyke  told  me  this  morning  that 
to-morrow  we're  all  going  down  to  Barrytown  to  see 
some  elegant  place  where  there's  a  bigger  family  of  trees 
than  all  of  you  are,  and  lots  of  flowers.  So,  to-morrow 
I  won't  be  here,  nor  maybe  the  next  day  ;  but  I'll  prom 
ise  that  I  won't  like  any  of  the  Barrytown  trees  as  well 
as  I  do  all  of  you.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  the  story  that 
Dyke  read." 

And  she  told  the  story  ;  the  story  of  the  old  Roman 
emperor  who  did  nothing  more  useful  than  delight  the 


4:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

people  with  magnificent  shows,  and  who  met  the  end  of 
most  of  the  Roman  emperors,  assassination.  She  told  it 
all  in  her  simple  way,  but  with  a  correctness  of  detail 
and  incident  most  creditable  to  the  instruction  of  Dyke 
(whoever  he  was),  and  that  would  have  delighted  the 
hearts  of  our  modern  teachers  of  history.  'Nor  did  she 
end  with  the  conclusion  of  her  tale,  but  delivered  a  hom 
ily  (most  probably  Dyke's)  on  the  deserved  end  of  such 
useless  lives. 

Evidently  this  child  of  the  mountains  was  neglected 
neither  in  morals  nor  the  sciences,  and  as  one  looked  at 
her  tiny  size,  and  wondered  whether  she  had  yet  reached 
the  age  of  seven,  and  saw  her  wide,  full,  open  brow  and 
sparkling  eyes,  one  was  still  more  inclined  to  wonder 
that  such  premature  intelligence  should  be  united  with 
such  a  simple  and  yet  such  an  ardent  imagination. 

The  shadows  had  begun  to  lengthen  and  the  patch  of 
sky  to  grow  dark,  and  warned  by  these  signs  that  it  was 
time  to  return,  she  made  haste  to  kiss  the  trees  as  she  had 
promised  to  do,  and  flinging  back  many  a  childish  good- 
by,  she  retraced  her  steps  through  the  wood. 

II. 

The  next  morning,  so  early  that  the  sun  had  not  time 
to  send  his  beams  far  down  the  mountains,  and  the  in 
mates  of  the  barn-yard  looked  as  if  even  they  had  been 
rather  unduly  aroused,  an  awkward-looking,  lumbering 
wagon,  drawn  by  a  horse  so  superior  in  aspect  to  the  ve 
hicle  that  it  seemed  a  sort  of  burlesque  to  put  them  to 
gether,  waited  before  the  door  of  the  little  mottled  farm 
house. 

In  a  few  minutes  there  came  out  of  the  house  the  little 
girl  whose  acquaintance  we  have  already  made,  and  by  her 
side  was  a  florid  faced,  good-natured  looking  woman  of 
middle  age.  At  the  same  time  there  came  from  the  di 
rection  of  the  barn  a  country-looking  youth  of  eighteen. 
He  was  country-looking  in  the  fact  that  his  face  had  the 


A   FATAL  RKSEMBLAKCE.  5 

sunburnt  hue  of  country  men,  Ids  hands  the  large  and 
chubby  size  produced  by  country  work,  and  his  clothes  a 
certain  home-spun,  rustic  look. 

A  closer  observation  of  his  features  and  his  manner, 
as  he  assisted  his  companions  to  places  in  the  wagon,  re 
vealed  some  things  that  were  not  common  to  coarse  coun 
try  lads.  There  was  a  native  grace  about  his  movements 
that  could  only  come  from  some  cultivation  of  mind,  and 
an  ingenuousness  and  nobility  of  countenance  indicative 
of  a  soul  that  had  far  higher  aspirations  than  the  breed 
of  cows  or  the  price  of  pigs. 

One  of  his  companions  we  have  already  described,  and 
save  that  her  hair  and  much  of  her  face  were  concealed 
by  a  large  close  bonnet,  she  looked  the  same  as  she  did 
on  the  preceding  day  ;  the  other  companion,  the  woman, 
had  nothing  to  distinguish  her  from  the  rest  of  her  class, 
unless  it  might  be  a  striking  honesty  of  countenance. 

The  drive  down  the  picturesque  mountain  road,  fre 
quently  by  the  side  of  steep  and  fearful-looking  ravines, 
and  at  other  times  by  thick  growths  of  vegetation  that  in 
the  gloaming  might  be  construed  into  grotesque  figures, 
was  one  to  be  enjoyed  by  even  those  to  whom  it  was  no 
novelty.  And  the  eyes  of  the  little  girl,  looking  out  with 
witching  brightness  from  her  close  protruding  bonnet, 
sparkled  with  delight  at  every  new  scene,  and  her  little 
tongue  hardly  ceased  from  asking  questions  long  enough 
to  give  Dyke  a  breathing  spell.  But  he  was  nothing  loth 
to  answer  her;  indeed,  it  seemed  to  be  as  much  pleasure 
to  him  to  reply  as  it  was  to  her  to  inquire,  and  he  often 
turned  round  to  look  lovingly  at  the  eager  face. 

They  passed  but  few  houses,  and  these  at  long  distances 
apart,  until  they  had  ridden  many  miles,  and  left  the 
stony  mountain  road  far  behind  them  ;  then  they  came  to 
straggling  settlements,  which  were  dignified  by  the  name 
of  villages,  and  rode  through  irregular  openings  that  the 
few  residents  expected  to  become  streets  by-and-by  ;  and 
sometimes  they  came  upon  open-mouthed,  curiously- 
staring  rustic  people,  who  looked  as  wonderingly  as  if  a 


6  A   FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 

one-horse  country  wagon  containing  three  people  was  a 
novelty  to  them.  At  length,  they  stopped  to  eat  the 
bountiful  lunch  Meg  had  provided,  and  to  feed  the  horse 
from  the  bag  of  fodder  carried  in  the  back  of  the  wagon, 
and  to  water  him  from  a  little  bubbling  stream  near,  in 
all  of  which  proceedings  the  child  took  as  much  interest 
as  Dyke  did. 

The  remainder  of  the  drive  for  an  hour  or  two  was 
along  a  hot,  unshaded  road,  and  Meg's  substantial  size  and 
dark  stuff  dress,  attracting  the  heat  most  uncomfortably, 
sent  that  good  soul  into  a  teem  of  perspiration,  drawing 
from  her  at  the  same  time  a  volley  of  such  ejaculations  as  : 

"  Bless  me,  but  it's  hot !  It  was  unconscionable  of  Mr. 
Edgar  to  send  for  us  such  a  day  as  this.  I'll  melt,  I  know 
I  shall." 

Dyke  was  equally  hot,  to  judge  from  his  moist  face, 
but  he  made  no  complaint,  and  the  little  girl,  though 
looking  hot  also,  was  still  too  interested  in  objects  about 
her  to  mind  that  slight  discomfort. 

Meg  at  length  succumbed  to  sleep,  and  Dyke  halted 
to  adjust  her  so  that  the  jolting  of  the  wagon  would  not 
pitch  her  about,  and  possibly  throw  her  out,  and  then  he 
took  the  little  girl  on  the  seat  with  himself  and  drove  on. 
She  seemed  to  have  tired  of  questioning,  and  from  her 
silence  he  thought  she  too  was  asleep,  but  as  often  as  he 
stooped  and  looked  under  her  bonnet  her  eyes  were  wide 
open. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  said  at  last,  a  little  puzzled 
by  this  unusual  behavior.  "  Wha,t  makes  you  so  quiet  ? " 

"  Because  I  was  thinking  of  that  Mr.  Edgar  we're 
going  to  see.  How  funny  that  his  name  is  just  like  mine. 
Is  he  anything  like  that  big  dark  man  that  came  to  see 
Meg  ever  so  long  ago  ? " 

"  What  a  memory  you  have ! "  answered  Dyke. 
"  Why,  that's  three  years  ago,  when  you  were  the  littlest 
bit  of  a  tot.  Yes  ;  it's  the  same  gentleman,  but  we  won't 
mind  about  him  now  until  we  get  to  his  place.  Let  us 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  7 

talk  about  the  birds  and  the  squirrels.  See !  there  is  a 
little  red  fellow  now  running  along  that  fence." 

And  the  child,  immediately  interested,  forgot  her  for 
mer  inquiry  ;  a  f orgetf ulness  that  Dyke  fostered  by  be 
ginning  immediately  a  story  about  the  chipmunks. 

By  that  time  they  had  reached  the  place  where  a  lum 
bering  boat  was  to  take  them  across  the  river,  and  as 
there  was  barely  room  for  Dyke's  horse  and  vehicle  on 
the  rough,  narrow  deck,  necessitating  especial  care  on  his 
part  to  prevent  an  accident,  Meg  was  aroused  from  her 
nap,  in  order  to  be  placed  with  her  little  charge  in  safer 
quarters  in  another  part  of  the  boat.  When  they  arrived 
at  the  opposite  side,  the  sun  had  turned,  and  a  delightful 
breeze  was  springing  up ;  moreover,  the  rest  of  their 
way  lay  through  a  heavily  shaded  road,  and  the  child  was 
in  ecstasies  with  the  great  old  trees  that  loomed  up  on 
each  side  of  her. 

Dyke  had  to  tell  her  their  names,  and  how  many  years 
he  thought  they  were  growing,  and  whether  the  branches 
that  were  extended,  as  if  to  meet  other  branches,  did  not 
do  so  out  of  affection,  all  of  which  questions  Dyke  an 
swered  very  patiently,  and  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Meg,  quite  refreshed  by  the  cool  breeze,  adjusted  her 
costume,  and  expressed  her  approval  of  the  change  in  the 
weather,  and  by  that  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  en 
trance  of  a  private  carriage  road,  at  the  end  of  which, 
half  embowered  in  trees,  they  caught  occasional  glimpses 
of  a  large  stone  house. 

III. 

Dyke  was  in  some  uncertainty  about  the  propriety  of 
taking  his  lumbering  vehicle  any  further,  and  he  was 
debating  with  himself  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 
have  his  companions  alight  and  walk  up  to  the  house, 
when  a  respectable,  though  country-looking  man  appeared, 
issuing  from  a  small  dwelling  just  at  the  entrance  to  the 
road. 


8  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"  You're  the  people  that's  coming  to  see  Mr.  Edgar, 
aren't  you?  "  he  said,  going  confidently  up  to  Dyke  ;  be 
ing  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  continued  : 

"  Get  right  down,  and  come  into  my  house  here  ;  I'm 
Mr.  Edgar's  gatekeeper.  He  told  me  lie  was  expecting 
you,  and  you  can  make  yourself  at  home  with  my  wife 
until  you  rest  a  bit ;  then  she'll  show  you  up  to  the  house. 
I'll  take  care  of  your  horse,"  as  Dyke  stopped  to  pat  the 
animal. 

The  offer  was  gladly  accepted,  and  Meg  took  a  great 
deal  of  pains  in  smoothing  out  the  little  girl's  hair,  and 
brushing  down  her  somewhat  rumpled  dress,  in  order  to 
make  her,  as  she  herself  expressed  it,  "  at  her  prettiest." 
"For,"  she  said,  turning  to  Dyke,  u  there's  no  knowing 
what  may  happen,  and  it's  our  duty  to  bring  things  around 
if  we  can." 

But  Dyko  looked  troubled  and  made  no  reply.  The 
gatekeeper's  wife  conducted  them  to  the  house,  the 
largest  and  the  handsomest  dwelling  the  little  girl  had 
ever  seen,  and  she  locked  with  wonder  at  the  furniture, 
so  different  from  what  she  was  accustomed  to  see  in  her 
simple  mountain  home.  Dyke  also  was  a  little  curious 
and  interested,  but  Meg  acted  as  if  such  elegance  was  not 
at  all  unfamiliar. 

Mr.  Edgar  came  into  the  parlor  to  see  them,  and  the 
child's  description  of  "  a  big  dark  man  "  exactly  described 
him.  He  was  a  big,  dark  man,  so  tall  and  straight  and 
lithe  that  his  height  seemed  even  greater  than  the  six 
feet  it  must  have  been ;  and  his  complexion,  eyes,  and 
hair  were  swarthy  enough  to  have  justified  the  supposi 
tion  of  Indian  blood  in  his  veins.  He  bowed,  and  smiled 
at  his  visitors,  showing  the  gleam  of  large,  even,  and  ex 
quisitely  white  teeth  through  his  moustache,  and  crossing 
to  the  little  girl,  he  said  : 

"  You  have  grown  very  much  since  I  saw  you  last ;" 
then  he  paused,  during  which  his  eyes  went  sharply  all 
over  her  little  person. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  9 

"  What  is  this  your  name  is  ? "  he  asked,  somewhat 
abruptly. 

"  Ned  Edgar,"  said  the  child  confidently. 

The  gentleman's  face  lost  its  pleasant  expression,  and 
he  turned  with  a  displeased  look  toward  Meg,  who  has 
tened  to  answer  witli  a  courtesy  : 

"  She  likes  to  be  called  Ned,  sir,  and  I  didn't  think  it 
was  any  harm  to  indulge  her." 

"  Perhaps  not  a  while  ago,  but  she  is  getting  too  big  to 
be  called  by  a  boy's  name  now.  Give  me  your  name  pro 
perly,  my  child." 

All  the  little  sprite's  self-will  was  aroused.  "With  her 
impulsive,  childish  reasoning  she  could  see  no  right  of 
this  dark  stranger  to  interfere  with  her  privileges.  Dyke, 
who  had  the  most  right  of  anybody,  never  objected  to 
her  boy's  name,  and  she  certainly  was  not  going  to  give 
it  up  to  please  this  man.  So,  with  all  her  temper  in  her 
eyes,  she  answered : 

"  My  name  is  just  what  I  told  you,  Ned  Edgar.  Meg 
says  my  mother  wanted  me  called  Ned,  because  her 
brother  that  she  loved  so  was  Ned,  and  I  won't  be  any 
thing  else,"  stamping  her  tiny  foot. 

"  Ah  !  "  the  gentleman  said,  turning  his  face  away  ami 
retreating,  while  Meg,  having  recovered  from  her  horrified 
astonishment  both  at  the  child's  outspokenness  and  at  her 
temper,  rushed  to  her,  and  almost  implored  her  to  tell  the 
gentleman  that  her  name  was  Edna. 

"  And  please  don't  mind  her  temper,  sir,"  apologized 
Meg  ;  "  she'll  be  sorry  for  it  in  a  minute,  and  ready  to 
beg  your  pardon." 

"  Oh,  it  makes  no  difference,"  said  Mr.  Edgar  coldly, 
"  but  I  would  like  to  see  this  young  man  for  a  few  min 
utes,"  turning  to  Dyke,  and  then  he  led  the  way  to  an 
other  room,  beginning  abruptly  when  he  had  taken  a  seat, 
and  motioned  the  lad  to  another  : 

"  You  are  the  nephew  of  this  woman  who  is  with  you, 
are  you  not  \  " 

"  Yes  ;  her  sister's  son,"  was  the  reply. 


10  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"  And  you  are  acquainted  with  all  the  circumstances  of 
that  child's  birth  and  life  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  them,"  was  the  brief  response. 

"  And  how  much  does  the  child  know  about  herself  ?  " 
The  swarthy  face  had  something  like  a  blush  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  it  bent  with  involuntary  eagerness  toward  the 
young  man. 

"  Nothing  ;  save  that  my  aunt  and  I  love  her  as  dearly 
as  though  she  were  truly  our  flesh  and  blood." 

In  proportion  as  the  swarthy  face  grew  flushed  and 
eager,  Dyke's  open  countenance  became  calm  and  deter 
mined. 

"  And  if  this  child  should  be  left  with  you,  should  in 
deed  always  remain  unclaimed,  what  then?" 

Dyke  rose. 

"  Should  such  be  the  case,  I  would  hail  it  as  a  fourfold 
blessing.  My  arms  are  strong  enough  to  work  for  her, 
and  all  that  I  need  to  give  newer  and  better  strength  to 
them  is  the  assurance  that  she  never  will  be  claimed." 

Mr.  Edgar  also  rose,  but  instead  of  replying  he  began 
to  pace  the  room.  Sometimes  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  as  he  walked,  and  again  he  folded  his  arms  and 
looked  before  him  with  the  air  of  one  in  deep  mental  dis 
tress.  He  stopped  at  length. 

"  It  might  be  best  for  myself  if  I  could  give  you  such 
an  assurance,  but  I  dare  not  do  it ;  the  feeling  here," 
striking  his  breast,  "  will  not  permit  me  to  do  so.  I  could 
curse  him  who  has  left  me  in  such  horrid  doubt." 

For  an  instant  his  face  became  savage-looking ;  then, 
as  the  expression  vanished,  he  continued  : 

"  I  sent  for  you  because  I  had  not  the  time  to  go  to 
you,  and  I  wanted  to  see  Edna  before  I  started  on  a  long 
journey  abroad.  I  am  almost  convinced  that  she  is  not 
my  child,  and  yet  I  cannot  promise  you  that  my  feelings 
will  not  change,  and  that  I  shall  not  claim  her  as  my 
daughter  some  day.  However,  until  that  day  comes, 
until  I  have  proof  that  she  is  my  own,  you  may  continue 
to  have  the  care  of  her,  and  I  shall  see  that  you  are  paid 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  11 

a  much  larger  sum  quarterly  than  you  have  been  here 
tofore." 

Dyke's  voice  was  a  little  tremulous  : 

"  So,  Mr.  Edgar ;  I  cannot  accept  your  offer.  The 
little  farm  which  we  have  upon  the  mountain  affords 
sufficient  support  for  us  now,  and  as  the  care  of  Ned  or 
Edna,"  slightly  blushing  because  he  had  used  the  mascu 
line  diminutive,  "is  a  work  of  love,  no  money  can  pay 
us.  So,  if  you  insist  on  our  acceptance  of  money,  we 
must  insist  on  resigning  the  care  of  the  child." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  his  firm  determination,  and 
Mr.  Edgar,  after  a  searching  look  at  him,  said  with  a  half 


sigh : 

"  Well,  let  it  be  so." 


IY. 


Fifty  years  prior  to  the  time  at  which  our  story  opens, 
there  resided  in  one  of  the  country  districts  of  England 
a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Edgar.  Haughty  and  re 
served,  almost  to  moroseness,  he  seemed  to  derive  little 
enjoyment  from  the  vast  wealth  bequeathed  to  him  as  the 
sole  remaining  scion  of  a  once  titled  family,  further  than 
was  afforded  by  the  collection  of  valuable  paintings  and 
statuary.  He  was  always  negotiating  for  the  purchase  of 
some  celebrated  work,  and  every  apartment  in  the  baronial- 
like  mansion  contained  more  than  one  piece  of  rare  and 
exquisite  workmanship. 

How  he  spared  sufficient  time  from  his  beloved  occupa 
tion  to  woo  and  marry  a  lady  from  a  neighboring  district 
puzzled  his  few  friends,  and  they  were  hardly  surprised 
at  the  rumors  shortly  after  circulated  that  the  lady  was 
not  happy  in  her  new  position.  Be  that  as  it  may,  she 
died  in  childbirth,  leaving  to  her  haughty  lord  and  master 
sturdy  twin-sons.  Something  of  the  father  showed  itself 
then,  and  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  springs  of  parental 
tenderness  had  swallowed  up  the  moroseness  and  taci 
turnity  that  had  marked  his  former  life;  but,  as  the  boys 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


frew  up,  and  were  away  for  long  periods  at  college,  the 
andsome,   middle-aged   gentleman   returned   to  all  his 
former  ways. 

The  boys,  though  twins,  were  as  unlike  each  other  in 
disposition  as  it  was  possible  for  brothers  to  be.  Edward, 
the  elder,  though  something  like  his  father  in  pride  and 
reserve  of  character  had  withal  a  frankness  and  gene 
rosity  that  endeared  him  to  many.  Henry,  the  younger, 
developed  all  the  qualities  of  a  dare-devil  and  bravado, 
without  the  traits  which  sometimes  go  far  to  redeem  such 
a  character.  There  was  also  a  trickiness  in  his  nature 
peculiarly  repulsive  and  exasperating  to  his  brother.  So 
they  grew  to  have  little  in  common,  and  at  length  to 
entertain  for  each  other  a  bitter  hatred.  When  they  came 
home,  the  country  about  was  speedily  full  of  accounts  of 
Henry's  rollicking  actions.  Now  it  was  a  merry  party  of 
companions  like  himself  who  wrent  tearing  over  the 
country  at  midnight,  and  who  often  left  disagreeable  evi 
dences  of  their  raid.  Again,  it  was  some  hunt  that 
wantonly  trespassed  on  private  grounds  and  brought 
exasperated  rustic  gentlemen  to  remonstrate  with  the 
father  of  the  wild  young  man.  But  Mr.  Edgar,  with  all 
his  sternness,  could  neither  subdue  nor  frighten  that 
headstrong,  wayward  character,  and  at  length,  after  re 
peated  acts  tli  at  had  the  whole  district  in  arms,  he  settled 
a  meagre  allowance  upon  his  younger  son,  and  thence 
forward  renounced  all  relationship  with  him.  .  The  young 
man  was  forbidden  ever  to  step  across  the  threshold  of 
his  father's  home. 

He  seemed  to  take  the  edict  quietly  enough,  betraying 
neither  remorse  for  his  conduct,  nor  affection  for  his 
relatives.  But,  to  a  skilled  observer,  there  was  a  look  in 
his  dark  eyes  and  about  his  handsome  mouth  which  be 
trayed  a  secret,  yet  deep  and  bitter  vindictiveness. 

To  his  brother,  who  extended  his  hand,  willing  and 
wishing  to  part  friends,  he  presented  a  most  scowling 
countenance,  and  dashing  away  the  proffered  hand,  he 
hissed  : 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  13 

" Never;  you  are  not  my  brother!  " 

A  little  while  after,  Edward  Edgar  married,  entirely 
to  his  father's  satisfaction ;  and,  as  if  to  bring  disgrace  on 
the  family  name,  his  brother  married  at  the  same  time  the 
pretty  daughter  of  a  farm  hand,  but  one  of  whom  report 
spoke  in  a  light  and  no  guiltless  manner. 

With  strange  similarity,  both  wives  gave  birth  at  the 
same  time,  each  to  a  daughter,  and  Henry  deferred  the 
christening  of  his  child  until  he  should  learn  the  name  of 
his  brother's  babe. 

Then  he  hastened  to  have  his  offspring  also  baptized 
Edna. 

Thus,  there  were  two  Edna  Edgars  not  three  miles 
apart ;  but,  while  one  had  elegant  attendance  and  the 
most  lavish  parental  love,  the  other  had  little  better  than 
abject  poverty — Henry's  allowance  being  hardly  sufficient 
to  support  his  debauches — and  love,  deep  enough  from 
the  young,  illiterate  mother,  but  little  more  than  indiffer 
ence  on  the  part  of  the  dissipated  father. 

The  wealthy  Mrs.  Edgar  died  when  her  babe  was  a  week 
old ;  and  before  another  week  had  elapsed,  her  child  was 
stolen — stolen  from  the  mansion  and  from  the  very  arms 
of  its  nurse.  The  latter  was  found  in  the  morning  in 
sensible  from  the  administration  of  some  drug ;  and 
when  consciousness  was  restored,  she  was  so  stunned  by 
fright  as  to  be  able  to  tell  only  an  incoherent  story  about 
the  sudden  entrance  into  the  nursery,  late  the  preceding 
night,  of  a  man  who  looked  like  a  gypsy,  and  of  his  violent 
application  of  something  to  her  face,  while  she  was  nurs 
ing  her  little  charge. 

Suspicion  settled  immediately  upon  the  gypsies  who 
had  an  encampment  in  the  vicinity,  and  a  thorough  search 
was  made,  but  without  success.  Singularly  enough, 
Edward  Edgar  never  suspected  his  brother  of  the  deed  ; 
and  while  the  whole  country  about  was  excited  and  dis 
mayed,  and  sympathized  with  the  anguish  of  the  bereaved 
father,  not  a  syllable  connected  Henry  Edgar's  name  with 
the  cruel  and  daring  action ;  not  until  he  himself  sent 


14:  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

word  to  his  brother  that  the  missing  infant  was  in  his 
house. 

Edward  Edgar  hurried  to  the  poor  abode,  there  to  be 
confronted  with  two  infants  so  exactly  alike  that  he  could 
not  distinguish  his  own,  and  to  be  told  by  Henry  that  it 
was  lie  who  had  stolen  the  child,  and  that  he  knew  the 
babes  apart,  having  put  a  hidden  mark  011  the  one  he  had 
stolen  ;  but  that  he  would  see  his  brother  infernally  con 
demned  before  he  would  tell  him  which  was  his  own,  or 
by  what  means  he  ha,d  been  enabled  to  put  upon  the  child 
letters — letters  that  he  alone  could  reproduce.  He  further 
r,a:d  that  the  letters  were  the  initials  of  her  own  name, 
E.  E.,  but  he  refused  to  say  upon  what  part  of  the  infant 
he  had  marked  them. 

'Not  even  the  threat  of  a  prosecution  for  his  crime 
could  move  him.  He  was  just  as  ready  to  go  to  prison 
as  to  go  anvwhere  else/ he  said  defiantly,  and  Edward 
Edgar  shrank  from  the  shocking  publicity  that  must  be  en 
tailed  by  a  criminal  prosecution  of  his  own  and  only 
brother.  His  brother's  wife,  compelled  to  abject  subjuga 
tion  by  her  husband,  was  quite  as  non-committal,  and  she 
was  so  well  instructed  that  the  closest  observation  failed 
to  detect  in  her  a  sign  that  might  betray  her  knowledge  ; 
she  hung  over  both  infants  alike,  and  never  pressed  one  to 
her  heart  that  she  did  not  lavisii  on  the  other  the  same 
caress. 

There  seemed  to  be  but  one  way  out  of  the  agonizing 
dilemma,  and  that  was  suggested  by  faithful  Meg  Standish 
—for  Mr.  Edgar  to  take  both  the  babes,  and  as  they  grew, 
something  might  be  developed  which  would  enable  him 
to  tell  his  own. 

He  determined  to  follow  the  advice,  and  Henry  con 
sented  to  yield  the  two  children,  provided  that  he  should 
receive  in  return  a  liberal  amount  of  money.  Mr.  Edgar 
acceded  to  the  demand,  but  he  stipulated  for  legal  posses 
sion  of  the  infants,  in  order  that  the  future  might  be  se 
cured  from  any  claim  of  Henry  Edgar  or  his  wife. 

To  that  demand,  after  some  deliberation  which  was  due 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE .  15 

perchance  to  the  imploring  look  of  the  abjectly  obedient 
wife,  Henry  Edgar  also  consented,  and  the  necessary  legal 
forms  being  complied  with,  the  two  babes  were  transferred 
to  Mr.  Edgar's  grand  home. 

Both  Mr.  Edgar  and  Meg  Standish  watched  closely  tho 
parting  of  the  young  mother  with  the  children,  feeling 
that  at  such  a  time  some  instinct  of  maternity  must  betray 
itself.  But  her  husband  never  left  her  side  for  an  instant, 
and  under  his  scowling,  determined  look,  she  dared  not 
show  a  motion  other  than  he  had  commanded.  She  hug 
ged  and  cried  over  both  little  ones  equally,  but  that  was 
all ;  and  the  very  next  week  her  husband  left  England, 
taking  her  with  him,  but  where  he  went  no  one  knew. 

Nurses  from  the  continent  were  procured  for  the  chil 
dren,  and  Meg  set  all  her  wits  and  all  her  affection  to  work 
to  discover  in  which  one  there  might  be  such  evidence  of 
the  lovable  disposition  of  her  own  young  mistress  as  must 
establish  beyond  a  doubt  the  identity  of  Mr.  Edward's  child. 
In  the  course  of  the  year,  when  the  little  ones  gradually 
began  to  develop  physical  differences  by  which  they  could 
be  distinguished,  as  well  as  differences  in  their  infantile 
dispositions,  faithful  Meg  fancied  she  had  quite  discovered 
which  was  the  child  of  her  master,  and  her  warm  heart  went 
out  to  the  little  one  they  called  "  Eddie,"  while  Mr.  Edgar, 
singularly  enough,  seemed  to  think  that  the  other  babe, 
who  was  called  Edna,  was  his.  His  father  also  inclined  to 
that  fancy,  but  as,  since  the  death  of  his  daughter-in-law, 
to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  he  seemed  to  be  somewhat 
imbecile,  Meg  paid  little  attention  to  his  preference. 

Strange  and  miserable  were  the  feelings  that  warred  in 
young  Edward  Edgar's  breast.  Almost  convinced  that 
Edna  was  his  child,  and  at  the  same  time  fearful  that,  after 
the  lapse  of  years,  he  might  tind  that  he  had  been  lavishing 
his  affection  on  the  offspring  of  a  low  woman  of  doubtful 
reputation,  hs  came  at  length  to  permit  himself  no  attach 
ment  to  either. 

When  the  children  wTere  two  years  old,  some  property 
in  America  was  bequeathed  to  Mr.  Edward  Edgar.  The 


16  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

bequest,  however,  required  his  presence  on  the  spot,  and 
as  his  father  was  fast  sinking,  he  waited  only  his  death  to 
make  the  journey,  determining  to  place  the  children,  be 
fore  he  went,  under  suitable  but  separate  care.  He  de 
sired  to  separate  them  because  he  would  not  have  his  child 
the  companion  of  the  daughter  of  such  a  woman  as  his 
brother's  wife. 

"  And  where  will  you  send  them  ?  "  asked  Meg,  her 
heart  in  her  month  lest  the  child  she  loved  should  be 
sent  from  her  care. 

"  To  institutions  probably,  if  I  can  find  any  that  will 
take  the  charge  of  such  young  children." 

The  woman's  honest  face  was  aglow.  "  You  may  do 
what  you  like  with  Edna,  for  there's  some'at  about  her 
that  I  can  iia  take  to,  and  that  tells  me  she  is  none  o' 
yourn,  Mr.  Edward.  But  Eddie  you'll  na  take  from  me. 
She  has  her  mother's  own  turns  wi'  her,  and  it's  past  me 
comprehension  that  you  don't  see  them.  Let  me  keep  her, 
Mr.  Edward,  and  I'll  take  her  wi'  me  to  America,  to  me 
sister  that's  been  writin'  for  me  this  mony  a  month.  She 
has  a  farm  there,  somewhere,  and  a  bit  o'  money  saved  be 
sides,  and  I'm  not  without  me  own  savings.  "  So  Eddie  '11 
be  taken  good  care  on,  and  she'll  have  the  love  that  they 
wouldn't  gie'  her  in  an  iiistitootion." 

The  gentleman  yielded,  and  on  the  evening  of  the 
same  day  old  Mr.  Edgar  died.  His  will,  made  at  the  time 
that  he  discarded  his  younger  son,  and  never  subsequently 
altered,  gave  everything  to  the  elder,  who,  immediately 
after  the  interment  of  his  father,  placed  the  Edna  that  he 
deemed  to  be  his  own  child  in  a  sort  of  nursery  in  the 
suburbs  of  London,  and  allowed  the  other  to  accompany 
Meg.  Then  he  went  to  America,  to  Barrytown,  where 
was  situated  the  property  that  had  been  bequeathed  him. 

There  seemed  to  be  something  in  his  new  life  that 
pleased  and  in  a  measure  satisfied  him,  for  he  continued 
to  make  his  home  in  Barrytown.  As  if  in  projecting  and 
supervising  improvements  on  the  estate,  he  was  lulled 
into  temporary  f orgetf  ulness  of  his  internal  horrid  strug- 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  17 

gle — a  struggle  to  master  the  yearning  of  liis  heart  for  the 
companionship  of  his  child.  He  had  loved  his  beautiful 
young  wife  with  an  intensity  of  which  only  strong  and  stern 
natures  are  capable,  and  his  soul  constantly  longed  to  pos 
sess  something  that  was  hers.  But  his  fear  of  making  a 
mistake  with  regard  to  the  children,  and  his  utter  re 
pugnance  to  loving  the  child  of  that  brother  whom  he  now 
fiercely  hated,  was  equally  strong.  So  while  one  feeling 
made  him  fear  to  be  utterly  indifferent  to  Meg's  little 
charge,  the  other  permitted  him  to  do  no  more  than  see 
that  there  was  paid  for  her  care  a  fair  sum  quarterly,  and 
to  visit  her  once  in  her  mountain  home.  She  was  four  years 
old  at  the  time,  and  pretty  and  cunning  enough  to  tempt 
him  to  kiss  her  warmly.  But  he  could  not  divest  himself 
of  the  idea  that  she  was  his  brother's  child,  and  so,  much 
to  Meg's  secret  indignation,  he  suffered  his  demeanor  to 
betray  nothing  more  than  the  passing  interest  of  a 
stranger. 

He  asked  all  sorts  of  questions  about  the  little  moun 
tain  farm,  ascertaining  that  Meg  and  her  nephew,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  hired  man,  were  alone  in  its  managment, 
Meg's  sister  having  died ;  and  he  seemed  particularly  inter 
ested  in  Dyke,  then  a  lad  of  seventeen.  The  latter,  for  a 
country  boy,  had  enjoyed  unusual  advantages  of  education, 
being  under  the  tuition  from  his  childhood  of  an  erratic 
but  well  educated  man  who,  making  his  home  with  some 
relatives  in  the  village  of  Saugerties,  turned  an  honest 
penny  by  giving  lessons  in  the  "  three  r's"  to  the  children 
of  his  scattered  neighbors.  In  Dyke — whose  correct  name 
was  Dykard  Button — he  took  a  lively  interest,  not  only 
teaching  him  the  three  famous  rudiments,  but  ably  impart 
ing  much  instruction  in  the  higher  branches.  He  lent  his 
own  choice  books  to  the  lad  when  he  was  able  to  read 
them,  and  that  was  how  Dyke  was  enabled  to  read  for 
Edna's,  or  as  she  delighted  to  be  called,  u  Ned's  "  mature 
delectation  such  tales  as  had  Roman  emperors  for  their 
heroes. 

Perchance  the  well-informed,  much-travelled,  and  aris- 


18  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tocratic  gentleman  was  amazed  to  find  such  mental  ability 
under  so  rustic  a  guise,  and  that  he  could  not  help  admir 
ing  the  manliness  of  the  lad.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  paid 
Dyke  so  much  attention  in  the  matter  of  respectful  in 
quiries  about  the  youth's  daily  avocations,  that  Meg  was 
proud  and  happy,  and  almost  forgave  his  indifference  to 
her  little  charge. 

After  this  mountain  visit,  Mr.  Edgar  returned  to  his 
JBarrytown  estate,  and  lived  for  three  years  longer  in 
strange  seclusion.  His  neighbors  were  not  many,  and  a 
little  too  far  removed  from  him  to  give  his  life  and  habits 
the  scrutiny  they — especially  the  unmarried  female  portion 
would  like  to  have  done.  They  believed  him  to  be  a  child 
less  widower,  and  they  would  have  extended  to  him  their 
heartiest  hospitality,  but  all  their  advances  were  received 
with  a  hauteur  which  repelled  any  future  effort. 

He  heard  at  regular  intervals  from  those  who  had 
charge  of  the  child  he  was  almost  convinced  was  his  own, 
and  every  letter  spoke  of  her  growing  beauty  and  intelli 
gence.  She  knew  her  letters  and  could  read  a  little,  but  the 
nursery,  being  only  for  very  young  children,  afforded  no 
further  educational  facilities,  and  it  was  necessary  to  trans 
fer  h  jr  to  some  school.  Edgar  determined  to  attend  to  the 
matter  in  person,  and  it  was  in  consequence  of  this  reso 
lution  formed  in  haste,,  and  leaving  little  time  to  prepare 
for  his  departure,  that  he  wrote  to  have  Ned  brought  from 
her  mountain  home  to  visit  him. 

He  would  see  her  before  going,  in  order  to  compare 
her  with  the  other  Edna  whom  he  would  also  shortly  see; 
hence  the  cause  for  the  little  one's  journey  to  Barrytown. 

Y. 

As  Mr.  Edgar  would  leave  for  New  York  on  the  ensu 
ing  afternoon,  Meg  resolved  to  depart  the  next  morning, 
so  that  "Ned"  had  little  time  to  explore  the  woods  about 
the  estate,  and  to  make  the  aquaintance  of  any  of  the  trees, 
as  she  longed  to  do.  Her  usual  fancies  were  at  work,  and 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  19 

not  a  rustle  of  the  leaves  that  she  heard  from  the  open 
window  beside  which  she  stood  waiting  for  Meg  to  finish 
her  simple  toilet,  nor  a  twitter  of  the  birds  that  reached 
her  in  the  early,  sweet-scented  morning  air,  but  told  her  a 
story  as  sweet  and  simple  as  her  own  little  guileless 
heart. 

She  yearned  to  be  abroad  among-  all  the  alluring  influ 
ences,  and  calling  to  Meg  that  she  could  wait  no  longer, 
she  darted  from  the  room,  down  the  broad  stair,  and 
through  the  front  entrance,  which  to  her  delight  was 
wide  open.  Along  the  path  she  skipped,  clapping  her 
hands  and  singing  to  herself  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do 
at  home,  and  indeed  with  every  evidence  of  forgetfulness 
that  she  was  anywhere  but  in  her  mountain  woods.  Sud 
denly  she  came  on  the  path  which  led  to  the  garden,  and 
attracted  by  the  scent  of  the  flowers  that  every  breeze 
wafted  to  her  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  odorous - 
ness,  she  pursued  her  way  until  she  came  upon  great, 
variegated  beds  arranged  in  all  sorts  of  shapes,  and  nes 
tling  at  the  foot  of  hills,  and  in  the  midst  of  greenhouses, 
through  whose  crystal  panes  were  seen  tall  foreign  exotics. 

She  had  never  seen  any  but  wild  flowers,  and  now  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  those  before  her  overwhelmed  her 
for  a  moment.  Then,  not  daring  to  pick  any,  she  flung  her 
self  on  her  knees  beside  one  of  the  beds,  and  took  long  in 
halations  of  the  fragrance. 

"  You  dear  things,"  she  said,  "how  God  must  love  you 
when  He  makes  you  so  pretty."  It  was  her  first  and  usual 
thought ;  pretty  things  were  God's  favorites,  and  she  con 
tinued  to  apostrophize  them  in  her  quaint  way,  until  she 
was  startled  by  a  deep  voice  saying  behind  her: 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  pick  some  of  the  flowers? " 

It  was  Mr.  Edgar,  big  and  dark  as  he  was  yesterday,  and 
very  much  out  of  " Ned's"  good  opinion  because  of  his 
unwarrantable  interference  with  her  name.  But  Meg  had 
talked  to  her  a  long  time  about  the  matter,  and  had  seemed 
to  feel  so  badly  because  of  "Ned's  "  temper  before  the  gen 
tleman,  that  the  child  with  her  usual  impulsiveness  had 


20  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

promised  to  ask  Iris  pardon  the  moment  she  saw  him  ;  and 
with  much  trepidation  of  heart  she  had  waited  for  that 
moment  all  the  evening.  But  Mr.  Edgar  did  not  reappear. 
Now,  hard  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  be  her  bounden  duty 
to  keep  her  promise  to  Meg,  and,  without  waiting  to  let 
her  courage  weaken,  she  rose,  shook  back  her  lose -flowing 
black  hair,  and  said  a  little  tremuolusly  : 

"  Meg  said  I  was  naughty  to  you  yesterday,  and  that  I 
ought  to  ask  your  pardon.  Please  forgive  me." 

81ie  held  out  her  little  brown  hand,  and  looked  up  into 
his  face  with  a  charming  blending  of  confidence  and  can 
dor  in  her  own  countenance. 

He  was  touched  in  spite  of  himself,  and  for  an  instant 
he  fancied  there  was  something  in  her  expression  which  re 
sembled  his  lamented  wife,  but  the  next  moment  he  im 
agined  that  he  detected  in  her  features  the  closest  resem 
blance  to  those  of  his  hated  brother,  and  he  said  half 
coldly :  "I  forgive  you ;  and  now  you  had  better  pick 
your  flowers,  and  go  back  to  the  house :  they  will  want 
you  for  breakfast." 

He  turned  away,  and  the  child,  delightedly  availing 
herself  of  the  permission,  seemed  to  forget  all  about  him. 

Directly  after  breakfast,  the  party  left  for  their  moun 
tain  home,  Mr.  Edgar  shaking  hands  with  Meg  and  Dyke 
and  Ned,  but  not  offering  to  kiss  the  latter  —  a  slight 
which  was  most  agreeable  to  the  little  one,  for  she  had 
a  sort  of  fear  of  this  big,  dark  man. 

YI. 

Two  months  had  passed,  and  Farmer  Brown  coming  up 
from  the  village  brought  another  letter  to  Meg  Standish, 
and  this  time  the  contents  caused  more  exclamations  from 
Meg,  and  more  private  conversations  with  Dyke  than  the 
former  letter  had  done. 

"  What  do  you  think  he's  driving  at  ? "  she  asked  of  her 
nephew,  when  for  the  third  time  the  two  privately  dis 
cussed  the  contents  of  the  epistle. 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  21 

"  He's  driving  at  one  thing,"  answered  Dyke  gloomily, 
"  though  perhaps  he's  not  aware  of  it  himself ." 

"And  what's  that  ? "  asked  Meg,  mopping  her  good- 
natured  face  with  her  apron,  and  drawing  closer  to  her 
nephew  in  her  eagerness  to  hear. 

"  To  take  the  child  away  from  us  altogether,  for  it  will 
come  to  that  in  the  end.  It's  fear  that  c  !^"ed '  after  all  may 
be  his  own  that  is  urging  him  to  this  step;  else  why  should 
he  decide  now  to  give  her  equal  advantages  with  the  other 
child  ?  You  told  me,  Aunt  Meg,  how  bitter  he  was  in  his 
determination  not  to  have  the  children  together ;  yet  here 
is  his  letter  saying  that  the  other  little  girl  will  be  with  us 
in  a  fortnight,  and  that  both  are  to  go  to  that  school  in 
Pennsylvania." 

Meg's  face  was  mopped  again ;  the  intensity  of  thought 
that  the  subject  required  brought  the  perspiration  from 
every  pore. 

"  But  isn't  it  wonderful,"  she  said,  "  how  he  trusts  you, 
Dyke  ;  to  think  of  his  telling  you  to  take  the  children  to 
that  place,  wherever  it  is ;  there  must  be  some'at  about  you 
that  took  wi'  him." 

But  Dyke  was  insensible  to  the  compliment ;  he  was 
thinking  with  a  sorrowful  heart  of  this  sudden  and  unex 
pected  interference  of  Mr.  Edgar  just  as  he  had  begun 
to  be  happy  in  the  thought  that  .Ned  would  remain  with 
him  and  Meg  for  at  least  a  long  time  to  come. 

"  I  had  such  plans  for  her,"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  I  meant 
to  have  given  her  all  my  knowledge,  and  then  to  send  her 
somewhere  for  accomplishments,  but  now  he  will  do  it 
all,  and  in  a  little  while  she  will  be  far  removed  from  us." 

"  He's  the  best  right  to  her,  he's  her  father,"  put  in 
Meg. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  doubts  it,"  answered  the  young  man 
almost  fiercely,  "  and  he'll  always  doubt  it,  and  perhaps  let 
his  doubts  cloud  her  life  in  one  way  or  another.  But  we 
gave  her  the  love  without  stint  or  hindrance,  and  we 
would  always  give  it." 

"Well,  lad,  don't  thee  take  it  so  hard."     In  moments 


22  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

of  deep  feeling,  Meg  resumed  the  dialect  of  her  childhood 
which  she  had  lost  somewhat  in  her  long  residence  among 
the  gentry.  "  It  be'ant  so  hard  after  all ;  thee'll  take  the 
child  to  school,  and  thee'll  go  to  see  her,  and  Mr.  Edgar '11 
let  her  spend  her  holidays  wi'  us." 

But  though  the  youth  did  not  again  complain,  he  took 
small  comfort  from  his  aunt's  words. 

Meg  had  many  housewifely  preparations  to  make  for 
the  little  stranger,  and  many  replies  to  give  to  Ned's  ques- 
tionrco'ncerning  her,  when  she  was  informed  that  a  little 
girl  of  her  own  age  and  of  her  own  name  was  coming 
from  England  to  visit  her ;  both  Meg  and  Dyke,  knowing 
her  passionate  attachment  to  them,  were  afraid  to  tell  her 
at  first  that  she  was  to  go  away  to  school  with  the  little 
girl.  So  Ned  had  the  brightest  anticipations  of  the  visit, 
and  counted  the  days,  and  went  frequently  to  her  beloved 
trees,  and  repeated  to  them  all  the  news. 

"  Meg  says  she's  a  nice  little  girl,  just  as  old  as  I  am, 
and  it's  so  funny, with  just  my  name,  only  they  don't  call  her 
Ned.  Meg  says  when  we  were  babies  that  she  took  care 
of  us,  and  that  we  both  lived  in  an  awful  big,  grand  house  ; 
bigger  and  grander  than  the  one  down  in  Barry  town  that  I 
told  you  all  about ;  and  this  little  girl's  papa  is  that  Mr. 
Edgar  that  I  told  you  about  also,  and  he's  sending  her  to 
see  me  ;  but  he  is  not  coining  with  her  himself,  he's  sending 
her  out  with  people  that's  coming — people  that  he  knows  ; 
and  whon  she  comes,  I'll  bring  her  out  here,  and  show 
her  to  all  of  you,  dear  maples,  and  pines,  and  cedars. 

VIII. 

Edna  arrived  on  her  mountain  visit.  It  was  the  after 
noon  of  a  lovely  October  day,  when  the  sun's  rays  fell  ge 
nially  on  the  side  of  the  mountains,  making  deep  shadows 
above  and  below  them,  and  lighting  up  with  exquisite  bril 
liancy  the  half  turned  leaves  of  the  adjacent  woods.  The 
little  stone  house  had  a  more  picturesque  look  in  this  mel 
low  sunlight,  and  the  inmates  of  the  farm-yard  seemed 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  23 

to  betray  some  curiosity  as  a  covered,  two-seated  wagon 
drawn  by  a  sleek-looking,  wTell-f  ed  team  drew  up  in  front 
of  them,  and  the  driver  descended  to  assist  the  occupants  to 
alight.  At  the  same  time  .Dyke,  and  Meg,  and  Ned  ap 
peared  from  the  house,  and  in  a  little  while  the  threo 
travellers  were  made  heartily  welcome.  As  age  has  the 
preference,  we  shall  say  a  word  first  of  the  worthy  couple 
to  whose  care  the  little  English  girl  was  intrusted. 

They  were  a  well-to-do,  honest,  and  not  un intelligent 
man  and  wife  who  had  been  born  arid  reared  on  Mr.  Ed 
gar's  English  estate ;  their  only  child,  a  son,  had  emigrated 
to  America  some  years  before,  and  having  married  and 
settled  in  Albany,  had  frequently  written  for  his  parents 
to  join  him.  That  fact  became  known  to  Mr.  Edgar,  and 
as  his  restlessness  wras  urging  him  to  an  immediate  course 
of  travel  in  the  East,  he  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity 
to  advise  the  couple  to  gratify  their  son's  wish  in  order 
at  the  same  time  to  bring  the  little  girl  to  Meg  ;  and  as  a 
handsome  sum  of  money  accompanied  his  counsel,  their 
consent  was  soon  won. 

To  Meg  their  arrival  was  like  that  of  her  own  relations, 
for  she  knew  them  well,  and  only  regretted  that  she 
could  not  induce  them  to  stay  with  her  a  month.  They 
insisted  upon  leaving  the  very  next  morning. 

Such  was  the  good-hearted,  simple  couple  in  whose 
trusty  charge  the  little  lady  was  placed,  and  now  we  shall 
give  her  a  due  share  of  attention.  Of  course,  she  did  not 
remember  Meg,  and  she  hardly  returned  that  good  soul's 
hearty  caress,  which  coldness  the  latter  attributed  to 
natural  shyness.  Nor  was  it  to  be  expected  that  she 
should  remember  Ned,  or  that  the  latter  should  remember 
her,  and  when  Meg  in  the  exuberance  of  her  own  loving 
heart  bade  them  run  into  each  other's  arms,  she  stood 
perfectly  still,  while  Ned  impulsively  obeyed  the  request 
and  kissed  the  little  stranger  warmly. 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  said  Meg,  when  they  were  all 
in  the  house,  and  the  plainly  but  expensively  dressed 
little  girl  had  removed  her  bonnet  and  tippet. 


-24 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


She  was  the  same  height  and  build  as  Ned,  with  the 
same  color  hair,  and  dark  expressive  eyes ;  but  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face  differed  ;  it  lacked  the  sunny  candor 
which  fascinated  one  in  ]STed's  countenance,  and  while  the 
formation  of  her  features  gave  promise  of  much  greater 
beauty  than  her  little  cousin  ever  would  possess,  just  now 
the  latter  had  the  advantage.  Meg  looked  earnestly  for 
some  resemblance  to  Mr.  Edgar  or  his  brother ;  there  was 
the  same  family  likeness  that  her  own  little  charge  had, 
but  nothing  more. 

The  couple  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Edgar  for  Dyke,  and 
Dyke  opened  it  to  find  a  more  complete  detail  of  instruc 
tions  than  the  former  missive  had  contained. 

The  arrangements  for  entering  the  little  ones  at  school 
had  been  completed  so  that  Dyke  would  have  no  trouble 
further  than  the  journey  with  them ;  and  then  the  letter 
went  on  to  state  that  Mr.  Edgar  preferred  the  children  to 
be  kept  in  ignorance  of  their  relationship,  and  that  he 
had  sent  his  own  little  daughter,  as  he  styled  Edna — to 
Meg's  secret  wrath — to  make  this  mountain  visit  first  in 
stead  of  placing  her  directly  at  school,  in  order  that  the 
children  might  become  acquainted  with  each  other,  and 
so  feel  less  the  loneliness  of  entering  an  entirely  strange 
home.  A  fortnight  he  thought  would  make  them  suffi 
ciently  acquainted,  and  their  school-life  could  begin  about 
the  first  of  November.  The  same  supply  of  clothes  which 
came  with  his  own  daughter,  would  be  found  in  an  ac 
companying  trunk  for  Meg's  little  charge. 

Ned  was  impatient  to  show  her  young  visitor  all  the 
things  in  which  she  was  herself  so  interested,  but  the 
dainty  little  English  miss  betrayed  a  provoking  want  of 
curiosity ;  indeed,  she  seemed  to  be  holding  in  constant 
scorn  all  her  surroundings,  and  when  coaxed  out  to  see 
the  milking,  gathered  her  dress  about  her,  and  put  her 
hand  to  her  nose. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  and  "  I'm  afraid  of  them  ugly 
things,"  pointing  to  the  great,  stupid-looking  cows,  and 
recoiling  from  Ned  who  would  have  pulled  her  forward. 


A    FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 


And  the  next  morning,  wlion.  Ned  in  delighted  and 
eager  haste  conducted  her  companion  to  the  wood,  and 
found  that  she  positively  refused  to  go  farther,  because  of 
her  fears  to  enter  such  a  dark-looking  place,  she  was 
ready  to  cry  from  disappointment. 

"  I  told  the  trees  you  wore  coming,"  she  said,  the  tears 
welling  in  her  eyes,  "  and  I'd  have  shown  you  where  tlio 
squirrels  have  their  nuts  stored  for  the  winter,  and  tlio 
berries  that  come  out  for  the  little  birds'  winter  food,  an  1 
ever  so  much." 

"Told  the  trees  I  was  coming,"  said  the  English 
Edna,  who  had  lost  everything  but  that  first  astonishing 
sentence.  "  Do  your  trees  here  speak  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  like  you  and  me,"  said  Ned  impatiently, 
"but  I  understand  them,  and  every  time  the  leaves  move 
I  think  I  hear  them  saying  something." 

The  little  English  girl  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  You're  so  awful  funny,"  she  said  in  answer  to  her 
companion's  look  of  indignant  surprise.  "  I  suppose  it  is 
because  you  don't  know  much,  living  here  with  that 
queer  old  woman,  and  that  funny -looking  man." 

Ned's  temper  was  aflame  in  an  instant — such  daring 
aspersions  cast  on  her  best  beloved  friends,  and  especially 
Dyke  who  was  her  hero,  were  too  much  for  her  childish 
human  nature,  and  without  pausing  an  instant  she  new  at 
her  cousin,  tearing  her  hair,  and  scratching  and  biting  her 
with  all  her  strength. 

The  attack  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected  that  Edna 
was  completely  off  her  guard,  and  maddened  by  the  pain, 
as  well  as  blinded  by  efforts  directed  at  one  and  the  same 
time  toward  her  hair,  eyes,  and  cheeks,  she  could  only 
scream  lustily,  and  endeavor  to  parry  the  strokes  by  thrust 
ing  out  her  arms.  The  two  fell  at  last,  and  once  down 
Ned's  rage  seemed  to  have  spent  itself ;  she  rose,  leaving 
her  companion  still  prostrate  and  screaming,  and  darting 
into  the  wood,  was  soon  hidden  from  sight. 

The  little  English  girl  picked  herself  up,  and  truly  she 
was  in  sorry  plight.  Her  dishevelled  hair  hung  partly  over 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLA.NCE. 


her  face,  and  was  full  of  the  dirt  and  tiny  bits  of  brush 
wood  on  which  she  had  fallen,  while  one  of  her  cheeks  bore 
swollen  and  bloody  marks  of  the  little  virago's  teeth.  Her 
dress  was  torn  and  dirty,  and  her  whole  person  was  sug 
gestive  of  a  most  desperate  encounter. 

Screaming  all  the  way,  she  returned  to  the  house. 

"  Bless  me  soul  !  "  exclaimed  Meg  when  she  saw  her, 
and  Dyke,  brought  by  the  screams  from  the  barn,  had  his 
fears  aroused  for  Ned. 

"  Where  is  Ned  ?  "  he  asked,  in  his  anxiety  for  her,  los 
ing  concern  for  the  child  before  him. 

But  Edna  was  in  too  violent  a  paroxysm  of  grief  to  an 
swer,  and  it  was  not  until  Meg  had  soothed  her  that  they 
could  get  any  coherent  statement  from  her.  Then  the 
blame  was  all  upon  Ned  ;  the  artful  child  not  telling  a 
word  of  her  own  provocation. 

Dyke,  who  knew  every  shade  in  Ned's  disposition,  asked: 

"  Didn't  you  say  something  to  her  that  made  her  fly  at 
you  like  that  ?  Just  think  what  you  said  to  her." 

"  I  didn't  say  anything;  only  I  wouldn't  go  into  the 
woods  with  her  because  it  was  so  awful  dark,"  and  the 
sobs  continued. 

"  Where  is  she  now  1  "  asked  Dyke. 

"  She's  in  the  wood,"  spoken  from  the  depths  of  Meg's 
bosom. 

Dyke  hurried  to  the  wood,  while  Meg  thought  within 
herself,  "Lawks  me  !  if  this  Is  the  way  they're  getting  ac 
quainted,  what'll  it  be  by-and-by  ?  " 

Dyke  sought  the  wood  ;  he  knew  Ned's  haunts,  for  he 
had  often  been  there  with  her,  and  interpreted  for  her 
her  fondly  imagined  language  of  the  trees.  Now  he  found 
her  curled  up  at  the  foot  of  one,  and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  Her  grief  came  from  a  twofold  source,  a 
keen  sense  of  Dyke's  displeasure  —  her  fits  of  temper  so 
pained  him  —  and  remorse  for  her  savage  treatment  of  the 
little  stranger. 

"  I've  been  so  wicked,"  she  had  sobbed  out  to  the  trees, 


A    FATAL    KKSEMBLANCE.  27 

as  she  had  thrown  herself  down,  "  and  now  God  won't 
love  me,  and  you  won't  love  me  either." 

Dyke  took  her  up  in  his  strong,  young  arms. 

"  Tell  me,  Ned,"  he  said  with  that  grave  air  which  he 
assumed  whenever  her  temper  broke  out  and  which  went 
to  her  little  heart,  "  tell  me  about  it." 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  rested  her  tear- 
stained  cheek  against  his,  while  she  answered  : 

"  Please  forgive  me,  Dyke ;  I've  been  awful  wicked.  I 
just  went  at  her  and  scratched  her  and  bit  her,  but  I'm 
awful  sorry,  and  I'll  beg  her  pardon  too,  if  you'll  only 
forgive  me  this  time,  Dyke." 

"  But  tell  me  about  it,"  he  persisted  gravely.  "  "What 
caused  you  to  do  it ;  did  she  say  anything  to  you  ? " 

Ned  was  silent ;  she  had  been  taught  by  both  Meg  and 
Dyke,  but  particularly  Dyke,  to  tell  the  truth  strictly,  and 
now  did  she  do  so,  her  answer  must  reflect  upon  Edna,  and 
also  hurt  Dyke's  feelings.  With  all  her  anger  against  the 
little  visitor,  in  her  natural  generosity  of  heart,  she  could 
not  bear  to  say  anything  that  would  reflect  upon  her. 

But  Dyke  persisted,  and  at  length  he  won  the  whole 
story,  with  an  addition  of : 

"  Don't  mind  it,  Dyke ;  she'll  like  you  by-and-by,  and 
maybe  she's  real  nice  too  after  all.  Don't  you  think  so  ? " 

But  Dyke  reserved  his  opinion,  and  instead,  talked  in  his 
gentle,  yet  grave  and  impressive  way  of  the  dreadful  fu 
ture  the  child  might  be  storing  for  herself  in  yielding  to 
those  passionate  bursts  of  temper.  And  she  listened  while 
the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  and  looked  so  pretty 
and  so  pitiful  that  the  lad  could  not  refrain  longer  from 
comforting  her. 

She  walked  with  him  to  the  house  very  soberly ;  but 
the  moment  that  she  caught  sight  of  Edna,  whoso  tears  had 
long  since  been  dried,  and  who  was  amusing  herself  watch 
ing  Meg's  culinary  operations,  she  darted  to  her,  threw 
her  arms  around  her  neck  and  burst  out  with : 

"  I'm  so  sorry  I  hurt  you  ;  I  know  I  was  awful  wicked, 
but  please  forgive  me,  and  I'll  try  to  love  you  very  much," 


28  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

The  humble  and  penitent  speech  was  received  with  an 
indifference  that  gave  but  little  indication  of  much  gen 
erosity  of  heart. 

YIIL. 

We  pass  over  the  days  which  intervened  before  the  de 
parture  of  the  children  for  school.  The  tears  and  sadness 
of  "Ned, "  when  she  found  that  she  was  to  be  separated 
from  those  she  loved  so  well,  not  to  mention  her  friends, 
the  trees,  to  whom,  with  touching  simplicity,  she  poured 
out  the  complaints  of  her  heart.  Nothing  but  Dyke's 
promise  to  bring  her  home  for  every  holiday  that  he  would 
be  permitted  to  do  so,  could  make  her  consent  to  go,  and 
at  the  last,  when  Edna,  witli  an  impatience  that  betrayed 
itself  by  pouting  lips  and  a  childish  scowl,  was  hurrying 
to  her  seat  in  the  wagon  which  was  to  take  them  to  Sau- 
gerties,  thence  by  boat  to  the  other  side  of  the  river,  where 
they  would  meet  one  of  the  primitive  conveyances  of  the 
time,  Ned  was  hanging  about  Meg's  neck  as  if  she  could 
never,  never  tear  herself  away. 

And  during  the  journey  her  only  comfort  seemed  to  be 
in  nestling  by  Dyke's  side,  holding  his  hand,  and  listening 
with  swimming  eyes  to  the  interesting  descriptions  the 
young  man  gave  of  the  places  they  passed,  while  Edna 
paid  constant  attention  to  her  own  little  person  ;  not  even 
Dyke's  animated  accounts  could  win  her  from  her  interest 
in  herself  ;  the  ribbon  fastening  her  tippet,  the  gloves  fit 
ting  so  smoothly  her  shapely  little  hands,  the  folds  of  her 
dark  dress,  all  were  subjected  over  and  over  again  to  fond 
and  prolonged  attentions,  and  her  fine  eyes  were  often 
raised  with  a  very  conscious  look  of  her  own  beauty  and 
importance. 

The  journey  was  completed  at  length,  and  the  first  sight 
of  the  large  gray,  plain-looking  building  conveyed  to  lit 
tle  Ned  a  feeling  of  utter  desolation ;  but  for  Dyke's  sake, 
who  had  told  her  if  she  grieved  it  would  break  his  heart, 
she  struggled  hard  to  be  very  brave  and  calm.  Upon  Edna 


A    FAT  AT,    KESIMBLANCE.  29 

the  effect  was  quite  different.  She  felt  instinctively  that 
she  was  about  to  meet  people  more  like  the  well-dressed 
ladies  she  had  "been  accustomed  to  see  in  England,  and  that 
her  innate  love  of  elegance  and  luxury  would  not  be  of 
fended  by  such  vulgar  surroundings  as  she  had  during  her 
mountain  visit ;  besides,  she  rather  longed  to  be  away  from 
Dyke.  Child  as  she  was,  she  had  been  ashamed  of  his 
country  look,  and  had  mentally  contrasted  him  with  the 
elegant  gentleman  who  had  introduced  himself  to  her  as 
her  papa,  just  before  she  left  England.  So  that  it  was 
with  a  very  sprightly  step  she  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
wide  portico,  and  followed  into  the  parlor  the  smiling  ma 
tron  who  came  out  to  meet  them. 

Poor  litle  Ned  followed,  clinging  to  Dyke's  hand,  and 
shutting  her  teeth  very  hard  together,  to  suppress  'her 
grief. 

The  pleasant-looking  matron  was  most  tender  in  her 
attentions,  assuring  Dyke,  whom,  to  Edna's  surprise,  she 
treated  with  marked  respect,  that  frequent  letters  had 
passed  between  herself  and  Mr.  Edgar  relative  to  the 
children,  and  that  the  latter  should  have  all  the  care  and 
comforts  of  their  own  home. 

"  But  we  are  in  some  dilemma  about  their  names,"  she 
continued  ;  "  both  being  Edna  Edgar,  how  shall  we  dis 
tinguish  them  ? " 

"  This  one,"  said  Dyke,  putting  his  arm  reassuringly 
about  his  own  little  charge,  "  we  call  Ned  at  home." 

The  lady  shook  her  head,  smiling  still.  "  That  would 
hardly  do  here,  being  a  boy's  name.  I  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  call  one  Miss  Edgar,  and  the  other  Miss  Edna." 

"  Let  me  be  Miss  Edgar,"  put  in  Edna,  who,  with  the 
stateliness  of  twenty-five,  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  stiff- 
backed  chairs,  and  gazing  curiously  about  her.  Her  cousin, 
in  too  much  grief  to  care  even  about  the  threatened  loss 
of  her  pet  name,  was  nestling  against  Dyke  and  holding 
her  head  down,  so  that  he  would  not  see  the  quivering  of 
her  lips  and  the  filling  of  her  eyes. 

The  matron,  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  rather  bold 


30  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

and  unexpected  request  of  the  little  girl,  turned  and  looked 
at  her  somewhat  reprovingly  ;  but  Miss  Edgar  was  neither 
dismayed  nor  abashed.  The  lady  turned  back  to  Dyke. 
"  Perhaps  this  little  girl  will  tell  us  which  she  prefers." 

But  poor  Ned  had  no  will,  nor  voice  to  speak,  and 
when  Mrs.  Mowbray,  touched  by  the  dejected  attitude  of 
the  child,  would  have  drawn  her  to  her,  and  spoken  tender 
words,  Ned  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  With  a 
great  sob  she  threw  herself  upon  Dyke's  breast,  and  cried 
as  if  her  little  heart  would  break.  Even  the  matron's 
eyes  were  moist,  while  down  poor  Dyke's  cheeks  streamed 
tears  of  which  in  his  manliness  he  was  ashamed ,  but  which 
he  could  not  restrain;  but  Edna  stared  indifferently,  now 
and  then  arranging  some  portion  of  her  dress. 

The  painful  leave-taking  was  over  at  length,  and  Dyke 
went  away  laden  with  loving  messages  to  Meg,  and  equally 
loving  ones  to  the  trees,  all  of  which  the  young  man 
promised  to  deliver,  but  he  was  heavy-hearted  enough 
himself,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  Ned,  as  she 
was  still  to  him,  though  the  matron,  had  decided  to  call 
her  Miss  Edna,  could  write  a  very  little,  thanks  to  his 
efforts,  and  that  he  was  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  hear 
ing  frequently  from  her,  he  would  have  been  as  inconsol 
able  as  she  was. 

IX. 

As  the  school  days  went  on,  Miss  Edgar  talked  con 
stantly  to  her  companions  of  her  elegant  English  papa 
and  all  that  she  expected  to  have  when  she  became  a 
young  lady  ;  and  she  paid  as  much  attention  to  her  little 
toilet  every  day  as  though  she  were  already  grown  up, 
and  she  strove  to  imitate  the  manners  of  those  of  her 
teachers  who,  in  her  childish  judgment,  had  more  claim 
than  the  others  to  gracefulness  or  elegance. 

Miss  Edna  sometimes  spoke,  but  oftener  thought,  with 
a  full  heart  of  her  simple  mountain  home  audits  two  fond 
occupants,  and  her  toilet,  or  the  toilet  and  manners  of 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  31 

those  about  her,  gave  her  little  concern.  Her  whole 
anxiety  was  to  please  Dyke.  He  had  asked  her  to  be  very 
obedient,  and  very  faitlif ul  to  her  studies,  and  she  followed 
his  requests  to  the  letter,  telling  him  in  the  little  notes  she 
was  permitted  to  write  every  month  how  hard  the  lessons 
were  sometimes,  but  that  thinking  of  him  made  them 
grow  easier. 

And  how  Dyke  kissed  the  crooked  and  cramped  writing, 
especially  the  signature,  "  Your  own  little  JSTed,"  of  each 
tiny  note,  before  he  put  it  carefully  away.  It  was  well 
that  he  could  not  foresee  how  one  day  he  would  read 
over  those  notes  when  anguish  should  have  broken  her 
spirit  and  his  own. 

As  the  months  rolled  by,  and  the  character  of  the  chil 
dren  developed,  Ned's  homesickness  somewhat  disappear 
ing  in  constant  occupation  and  her  own  unwearied 
diligence,  it  was  evident  that  Miss  Edna,  as  propriety 
demands  that  we  also  must  call  her  for  the  present,  was 
becoming  a  universal  favorite.  Her  heartiness  in  play  in 
recreation  time,  her  unselfishness,  and  her  readiness  to 
assist,  endeared  her  to  the  young  hearts  about  her ;  then 
her  quaint,  sweet  fancies  about  the  whole  vegetable  world 
interested  and  charmed  them.  They  loved  to  listen  to  her, 
and  to  draw  her  out  on  topics  so  unfamiliar  to  their  un 
imaginative  minds.  Twice  she  had  succumbed  to  her 
fiery  temper ;  once,  when  an  atrocious  lie  had  been  told 
by  one  of  the  larger  girls  on  a  little  one,  and  Miss  Edna, 
knowing  the  circumstances,  flung  them  unflinchingly  in 
the  larger  girl's  face,  and  provoked  a  storm  that  was  only 
quelled  by  the  interference  of  one  of  the  teachers.  The 
other  occasion  was,  when  her  cousin  learned  by  accident 
that  the  father  of  one  of  her  classmates  pursued  an  avoca 
tion  not  in  accord  with  her  own  elevated  notions  of  a 
gentleman's  business.  She  flung  some  scornful  remark  at 
the  child,  and  Edna,  who  was  present,  with  her  usual  im 
pulsiveness  turned  upon  the  haughty  speaker : 

"  She's  as  good  as  you  are,  and  you're  a  mean,  hateful 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

thing  to  speak  so.  Nobody  knows  what  your  own 
father  is." 

" He's  a  gentleman"  said  Miss  Edgar,  drawing  herself 
up  to  her  little  stately  height,  and  emphasizing  the  word 
gentleman  in  a  most  decisive  way. 

"Nobody  'knows  that,"  persisted  Edna,  hot  with  the 
temper  which  was  so  easily  aroused,  "  it's  only  yourself 
who  keeps  telling  us  so,  and  it  'd  be  a  good  deal  nicer  if 
you  didn't  brag  so  much  about  him,  anyway." 

Miss  Edgar  gave  a  scornful  toss  to  her  head,  and 
answered,  with  a  provoking  mimicry  of  her  cousin's  tones  : 
"  You  haven't  any  papa  to  talk  about,  unless  that  ugly- 
looking  greenhorn,  Dyke." 

Edna  could  endure  no  more ;  and  in  the  battle  that  en 
sued,  and  in  which  as  usual  the  little  mountain  girl  was 
much  the  stronger,  the  smaller  children,  who  happened  to 
be  the  only  ones  present,  fled  affrightedly  to  tell  the  tale, 
and  to  summon  help. 

Edna  was  punished  for  her  dreadful  conduct ;  but,  as 
usual,  her  remorse  for  having  yielded  again  to  that  which 
gave  Dyke  such  pain  was  her  most  acute  tormentor,  and 
for  hours  after  she  was  dissolved  in  tears  and  ready  to 
make  any  amends  that  would  allay  her  troubled  conscience. 
In  her  penitence,  she  forgot  the  provocation  she  had  re 
ceived,  and  she  went  of  her  own  accord  to  ask  her  cousin's 
pardon,  which  act  of  humility  made  Miss  Edgar  quite 
triumphant,  and  she  bestowed  her  forgiveness  with  all  the 
haughty  grace  of  a  conqueror. 

Miss  Edgar  herself  had  received  a  reprimand,  for  the 
little  listeners  had  repeated  what  she  said;  but,  owing 
to  a  most  cunning,  sycophantic  way  of  eluding  disagreeable 
consequences,  which,  child  as  she  was,  she  possessed  to  a 
remarkable  degree,  her  reproof  had  been  slight,  and  while 
poor  Edna,  driven  by  her  remorse  to  send  an  account  of 
it  to  Dyke,  was  writing  in  her  little  cramped  hand  a  detail 
that  had  not  a  word  of  blame  for  her  cousin,  and  only 
censure  for  herself,  and  a  pitiful  plea  for  pardon  from 
Dyke,  Miss  Edgar  was  carrying  herself  with  haughtier 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


33 


airs  than  ever,  and  giving  her  version  of  the  matter  to  her 
companions. 

When  Dyke  read  that  little  pitiful  note,  he  shut  his 
teeth  hard  together,  and  through  them  said  to  himself : 
"  It  was  that  little  devil  that  provoked  her  to  it.  I  know 
it  was,  though  Ned  doesn't  say  so  in  her  letter." 

Both  children  learned  rapidly,  little  Miss  Edgar,  how 
ever,  requiring  less  study  to  master  a  lesson  than  did 
Edna,  and  she  also  evinced  more  talent  for  music,  astonish 
ing  Mrs.  Mowbray  one  day  by  solicit! :ig  lessons  upon  the 
harp  in  addition  to  the  piano.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid," 
she  said,  lifting  her  eyes  very  fearlessly  to  the  pleasant 
face  above  her.  "  My  papa  will  be  perfectly  willing.  I 
heard  him  say  before  I  came  away  from  England  that 
I  was  to  learn  everything  I  had  a  taste  for."  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  was  silent  from  astonishment ;  the  confidence  and 
self-possession  of  this  chit  of  a  girl  not  yet  quite  eight ' 
years  old  almost  dismayed  her,  and  it  was  with  a  shade 
in  her  countenance  she  answered  at  last : 

"I  shall  write  to  your  papa  and  tell  him  of  your 
desire." 

"  But  may  I  not  begin  the  lessons  now  ?  "  persisted  the 
child,  her  confident  air  increasing. 

"  Not  until  we  hear  from  Mr.  Edgar,"  was  the  decisive 
answer. 

Could  Mrs.  Mowbray  have  known  the  real  motive  of 
the  child's  request,  she  would  have  been  painfully  con 
cerned.  Little  Miss  Edgar  desired  lessons  upon  the  harp, 
not  for  her  love  of  the  instrument,  but  because  it  possessed 
advantages  for  exhibiting  a  beautiful  arm.  She  had  over 
heard  a  conversation  between  some  of  the  larger  girls 
which  enlightened  her  upon  the  subject,  and  having  long 
since  learned  from  some  simple,  but  indiscreet  tongue  of 
the  beauty  of  her  arms,  her  childish  vanity  was  immedi 
ately  fired.  She  waited  impatiently  for  her  father's  letter, 
and  when  it  came,  she  was  summoned  to  Mrs.  Mowbray's 
room  to  hear  its  contents.  But  that  good  sensible  woman 
did  not,  as  the  little  lady  thought  with  secret  indignation 


34  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

slie  had  a  right  to  do,  read  the  letter  verbatim.  She 
simply  quoted  from  it  the  parts  which  concerned  the 
child,  and  which  were  to  the  effect  that  she  might  take 
any  lessons  she  chose,  providing  always  such  lessons  re 
ceived  the  approval  of  Mrs.  Mowbray.  Then  she  quoted 
another  part  which  said  that,  as  Mr.  Edgar  intended  to 
prolong  his  stay  abroad,  his  daughter  could  spend  her 
long  summer  vacation  either  at  the  school,  or  in  the 
mountain  home  of  her  little  companion,  the  other  Edna 
Edgar.  The  matron  was  careful  not  to  read  for  the  little 
eager  ears  the  part  which  requested  that  Miss  Edna  should 
receive  instructions  precisely  similar  to  that  imparted  to 
Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,  for  the  gentleman,  for  purposes  of 
his  own,  had  from  the  first  sent  instructions  to  the  effect 
that  the  children  were  not  to  know  that  it  was  to  him 
Miss  Edna  was  indebted  for  her  education.  Mrs.  Mow- 
bray  also  had  been  made  acquainted  confidentially  with 
the  relationship  existing  between  the  children,  but  she  had 
managed  so  adroitly  that  every  one  else  in  the  institute, 
including  even  the  teachers,  believed  them  to  be  only 
friends,  to  whom  strange  accident  had  given  the  same 
name  and  a  singular  resemblance. 

Miss  Edgar's  pleasure  at  hearing  she  might  take  lessons 
on  the  harp  was  a  good  deal  marred  by  her  disappointment 
at  learning  that  her  papa  was  not  coming  home.  She  had 
confidently  expected  to  spend  the  vacation  with  him  in 
Barrytown,  of  which  place  Edna,  with  great  good  nature, 
had  frequently  told  her,  and  her  delight  at  the  prospect 
of  such  a  visit  making  her  unwontedly  generous,  she  had 
said  that  Edna  should  spend  some  of  the  time  with  her. 
But  Edna,  with  becoming  spirit,  had  replied  that  she  loved 
her  own  home  too  well  to  spend  from  it  even  a  day  of  her 
holidays.  Now,  however,  all  little  Miss  Edgar's  hopes 
were  dashed,  and  she  pouted  and  was  sullen  with  both 
teachers  and  companions,  and  her  next  letter  to  her  father 
was  a  wild  plea  for  him  to  return,  which  plea  Mr.  Edgar 
answered  very  fondly,  but  at  the  same  time  he  stated  that 
he  would  not  come  to  America  for  several  years. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  £& 

X. 

Miss  Edgar  preferred  to  spend  her  vacation  in  the  in 
stitute,  rather  than  be  obliged  to  travel  with  rustic-looking 
Dyke,  and  her  choice  was  very  much  to  Dyke's  satisfaction ; 
for,  after  so  long  an  absence,  the  young  man  wanted  Ned 
all  to  himself.  Ned  was  also  well  pleased,  for  she  felt 
that  Edna  would  have  been  a  sort  of  discordant  spirit  in 
the  little  home,  and  not  alone  have  prevented  her  own 
enjoyment  of  the  scenes  she  loved  so  well,  but  interfere, 
perhaps  materially,  with  even  Meg's  pleasure  and  comfort. 
And  how  the  child  enjoyed  her  return  home  !  She  could 
hardly  refrain  from  kissing  even  the  cows,  especially  the 
brindle  that,  at  the  touch  of  the  little  hands,  turned  with 
what  seemed  to  be  a  look  of  affection  in  her  great  stupid 
eyes.  Then  her  friends,  the  trees;  with  what  ecstatic 
delight  she  embraced  each,  and  talked  to  them  all ;  telling 
about  her  school  life,  and  how  she  had  never  forgotten 
them. 

Somehow,  that  holiday  was  different  from,  and  more 
delightful  than  any  succeeding  one ;  for  other  years 
bringing  more  knowledge  and  experience,  destroyed 
gradually  all  the  sweet  quaint  fancies  that  made  her  life 
now  like  some  happy  dream.  And  how  her  delighted 
enjoyment  of  everything  rejoiced  Dyke's  honest  heart, 
and  made  him  quick  to  plan  diversions  that  were  at  once 
a  surprise  and  a  novelty.  Even  Meg's  heavy  step  grew 
lighter,  and  her  hands  quicker  at  their  daily  work  since 
the  whole  house  was  brightened  by  that  sweet,  winsome 
presence.  Then  the  mountain  rides  the  three  took  behind 
sleek  well-fed  Sam,  who  knew  the  road  so  well  he  needed 
hardly  any  guidance,  and  during  which  Dyke  repeated 
he  mountain  legends  that  had  such  a  charm  for  Ned. 
Often  in  the  moonlight,  when  Meg  dozed  in  the  wagon, 
and  Ned  with  a  red  cloak  about  her  sat  looking  like  a 
mountain  sprite  herself,  and  Dyke  being  largely  read  in 
mountain  lore,  repeated  story  after  story,  the  child  had 
little  difficulty  in  fancying  many  a  fairy  among  the 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

bushes ;  even  the  bushes  themselves,  to  her  eyes,  looked 
in  the  moonlight  as  if  they  might  be  green  wood  nymphs. 
She  had  no  fear  of  any  of  the  mountain  genii,  for,  owing 
to  Dyke's  able,  though  simple  instruction,  she  was  quite 
confident  that  nothing  could  hurt  her  so  long  as  she  her 
self  remained  strictly  truthful  and  good.  How  the 
memory  of  these  times  was  to  come  to  her  one  day,  when, 
sick  with  the  hollo wness  of  the  hearts  about  her,  and  faint 
with  the  burden  of  a  cruel  wrong,  she  was  to  long  for 
even  one  hour  of  those  happy,  guileless,  childish  times. 

XL 

Year  after  year  glided  away,  unmarked  by  anything 
more  important  than  Ned's  annual  visit  to  her  mountain 
home,  in  which  visit  her  cousin  always  refused  to  join 
her.     Miss  Edgar,  now  a  tall  and  graceful  girl,  entertained 
for  Dyke  and  his  plain  little    home  the  dislike  of   her 
childish  days.     She  grew  at  length  to  refuse  to  see  the 
young  man  when  he  came  to  the  institute,  alleging,  in 
answer  to  Ned's  indignant  reproaches  for  such  unkind- 
ness,  that  Dyke  was  not  her  relative,  nor  friend,  and  that 
she  could  not  be  expected  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance 
with  such  a  vulgar-looking,  ill-dressed   person.     It  was 
well  the  mountain  girl  had  gained  at  last  some  control  of 
herself,  or  Miss  Edgar  would  have  experienced,  as  she  did 
twice  before,  a  most  unpleasant  contact  with  her  cousin's 
hands.     As  it  was,  Ned  contented  herself  with  flinging  a 
sharp  and  passionate   reproach  at  the  haughty  speaker, 
and  she  descended  to  Dyke  with   an  agitated  face  and 
mariner.     She  had  only  left  him  to  bring  her  cousin,  and 
when  she  returned  alone,  he  understood  at  once  the  cause 
of  her  agitation.    "  Edna  wouldn't  come,"  he  said,  smiling 
a  little,  "is  not   that  it?"     But  Ned,  true  to  her  old 
childish  regard  for  people's  feelings,  and  Dyke's  in  par 
ticular,   could  not  bear  to  repeat   what   Edna  had  so 
unkindly  said.     "  I  know  it  all,"  said  Dyke,  smiling  still. 
"Miss   Edgar  is  ashamed  to   know  me.     I  do  not  look 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  37 

sufficiently  like  city  people  to  suit  her.  But  i  a  man's  a 
man  for  a'  that,'  eh,  Ned? "  with  a  smile  becoming  broader 
as  he  saw4;he  youthful  f ac"e  beginning  to  tremble,  "  and 
you  like  me  despite  my  clothes,  do  you  not  \ "  For 
answer,  she  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  hid  her 
face  on  his  shoulder  until  her  tears  were  dried. 

Ten  years :  it  has  been  a  long,  and  yet  a  short  period, 
those  ten  years  that  have  passed  since  we  first  became 
acquainted  with  Ned ;  and  how  does  she  compare  now 
with  the  simple  child  whom  we  then  knew  ?  She  has  the 
same  candid,  winsome  expression  of  counto'iance,  which, 
with  her  beautiful  eyes  and  hair,  and  tall  graceful  figure, 
make  her  a  very  attractive-looking  girl.  Then  she  lias 
manners  that  are  charming  from  their  very  simplicity, 
and  the  same  loving,  forgiving,  generous  heart  of  her 
childhood.  She  has  her  temper  still ;  that  temper  which 
lias  cost  her  so  many  tears  and  heartburnings,  but  which 
no  efforts,  and  she  has  made  desperata  ones,  have  been 
able  to  hold  entirely  in  command ;  it  is  true,  it  no  longer 
takes  the  vulgar  form  of  a  personal  encounter,  but  it 
blazes  out  in  word  and  look.  She  has  learned  well,  having 
taken  so  naturally  to  the  languages  that  she  is  a  better 
linguist  than  musician,  and  better  than  all,  she  has  a  solid 
foundation  of  study  on  which  to  raise  any  future  super 
structure. 

Her  cousin  has  developed  into  an  exquisitely  beautiful 
girl,  but  with  the  vanity  of  her  childish  days  deepened 
and  intensified,  only  now,  with  the  cunning  of  her  sex,  it 
is  well  concealed ;  and  while  she  has  succeeded  in  acquiring 
a  charm  of  manner  bewitching  to  superficial  observers, 
she  has  also  a  certain  insinuating  tact  by  which  she  wins 
easily  people  who  are  susceptible  to  blandishment.  She 
has  developed  a  marvellous  skill  in  music,  and  a  voice 
whose  glorious  notes  made  the  professor  say,  on  one  occa 
sion,  she  would  have  little  difficulty  in  becoming  ^primci 
donna  /  that  praise  the  young  lady  received  with  apparent 
modesty,  but  her  heart  swelled  with  secret  pride,  and  her 


38  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

blush  and  exultant  smile  when  she  was  alone  told  how 
love  of  admiration  had  cankered  the  very  core  of  her  heart. 

The  cousins  are  hardly  better  friends  than  they  have 
been  in  childhood,  for  Ned,  with  her  innate  love  of 
honesty,  and  a  penetration  that  comes  from  her  own 
simple,  upright  character,  is  enabled  to  read  somewhat 
Edna's  characteristics,  and  she  shrinks  from  her  accord 
ingly.  Still,  of  late  years  there  have  been  none  of  the 
open  ruptures  that  have  marked  their  early  acquaintance  ; 
and  to  casual  observers  they  appear  to  be  on  very  fair 
terms  of  friendship. 

This  is  to  be  the  last  year  of  their  school  life,  and  just 
as  both  shall  have  reached  that  "  brightest  era  of  a  woman's 
life,"  eighteen,  they  are  to  graduate  with  all  the  honors 
of  the  institute.  Mr.  Edgar  has  written  to  his  daughter 
that  he  is  coming  home  at  last — coining  home  in  time 
to  be  present  at  her  graduation  ;  and  that  he  will  ba  ac 
companied  by  an  elderly  lady,  a  widow,  who  lias  been  a 
friend  of  his  father's,  and  who  will  act  as  a  sort  of 
chaperone  to  his  daughter  in  society  ;  that  he  has  disposed 
of  his  English  estate,  and  will  henceforth  make  his  home 
in  Barrytown. 

Miss  Edgar  can  hardly  contain  herself  for  joy,  and  her 
delight  makes  her  good-natured  enough  to  rush  to  Ned 
with  the  news.  "And  you  must  come  and  see  me,  Ned." 
Latterly  she  also  has  evinced  a  preference  for  the  masculine 
diminutive,  and  she  lias  adopted  it  until  her  cousin  is 
"Ned"  to  every  one  save  the  teachers.  "And  you  must 
stay  with  me  a  long  time.  Papa  will  quite  approve  of  it, 
I  know."  But  Ned  shakes  her  head  even  while  she 
smilingly  murmurs  her  thanks.  Nothing  can  tempt  her 
from  her  own  little  home  among  the  mountains. 

Dyke  and  Meg  are  also  to  be  present  at  the  graduation  ; 
Ned  has  written  to  them  so  urgently  that  Meg,  though  so 
much  older  and  stouter  grown  as  to  make  travel  in  her 
case  almost  a  hardship,  feels  herself  constrained  to  gratify 
her  darling's  wish,  and  a  dressmaker  is  engaged  to  come 
up  from  Saugerties  to  make  Meg  a  new,  and  for  her, 


A   FATAL    BESEMBLANCE.  39 

quite  a  resplendent  gown.  Dyke  also  treats  himself  to  a 
new  suit  for  the  occasion,  but  it  is  not  much  more  city- 
like  than  the  rest  of  his  clothes.  Somehow,  Dyke,  un 
like  other  young  men,  does  not  give  much  thought  to  his 
appearance.  He  does  not  go  courting  as  others  do,  per 
haps  owing  to  the  isolated  position  of  his  home  and, 
perchance,  also  owing  to  a  love  which  has  dwelt  in  his 
heart  for  over  fourteen  years.  Then  his  mind  is  so  full 
of  the  bits  of  knowledge  with  which  he  is  constantly 
storing  it,  and  more  than  all,  of  an  invention  of  which 
he  has  been  full  since  his  boyhood,  that  he  has  little  room 
for  other  things.  The  invention  is  something  to  econo 
mize  farm  labor  and,  should  it  be  successful,  must  bring 
a  goodly  profit  to  the  inventor.  Recently  he  has  formed 
the  ac( juaintance  of  a  skilled  man  of  business  in  Saugerties, 
and  with  his  help  in  obtaining  a  patent  and  introducing 
his  invention  through  the  country,  he  expects  in  time  to 
be  quite  successful.  And  how  does  he  look  on  this  morn 
ing  that  he  is  ready  to  start  with  Meg  for  Pennsylvania  ? 
The  ten,  well-nigh  eleven  years  which  have  passed  since 
we  saw  him  first  sit  well  upon  him.  His  rugged  country 
life  has  given  a  fine  bloom  to  his  complexion,  and  his 
form  has  the  magnificent  development  that  delights  an 
anatomist.  He  looks  every  inch  the  strong,  firm,  honest 
fellow  that  he  is. 

XII. 

That  memorable  graduation  day!  memorable  to  both 
our  heroines,  because  it  was  their  first  introduction  to  an 
audience  composed  of  more  than  their  own  school  associ 
ates,  and  the  occasion  to  one,  of  her  meeting  with  a  father 
whom  she  knew  only  by  letter,  and  a  childish  memory 
that  every  year  somewhat  obliterated ;  and  to  the  other, 
of  gratifying,  by  the  honors  she  received,  the  two  fond 
hearts  which  were  so  bound  in  her  welfare. 

The  rules  of  the  institute  forbidding  elaborate  dress, 
the  graduates  appeared  in  simple  white,  adorned  alone 
by  natural  flowers. 


40  A    FATAL 

Miss  Edgar's  heart  was  beating  to  suffocation,  as  from 
her  elevated  position  she  looked  over  the  audience  and 
selected  almost  at  once  a  distinguished-looking  gentleman, 
with  an  equally  distinguished-looking  elderly  lady  beside 
him,  and  felt  that  he  was  her  father.  She  longed  for  the 
moment  when  her  name  would  be  called  to  sing  a  pathetic 
solo,  and  to  give  an  exhibition,  of  her  skill  on  the  harp. 
She  felt  no  dread  of  the  embarrassment  that  might  be 
caused  by  a  first  appearance  before  so  many,  for,  being 
well  assured  of  her  ability,  and  knowing  from  the  numer 
ous  admiring  looks  already  directed  at  her  that  her 
appearance  was  all  she  could  desire,  she  imagined  that  she 
should  be  perfectly  self-possessed.  Ned,  seated  beside  her 
cousin,  with  equally  beating  heart,  was  looking  for  Meg 
and  Dyke,  reassured  when  she  saw  them,  and  smiling  in 
answer  to  their  looks  of  fond  affection.  Her  part  in  the 
exercises  was  rather  limited,  being  one  instrumental  per 
formance  and  the  valedictory. 

Miss  Edgar  was  announced  to  give  the  solo.  She  rose, 
and  for  the  moment  had  a  strange  calmness  that  enabled 
her  to  walk  with  exceeding  grace  to  a  position  directly  in 
front  of  the  audience.  Then  she  unfolded  her  music  and 
strove  to  begin.  But  a  sort  of  stage  fright  had  overtaken 
her,  owing  to  the  mass  of  upturned  faces  ;  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  every  countenance  had  changed  into  eyes  that  were 
burning  through  her.  Her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of 
her  mouth,  her  knees  trembled,  and  the  blush  of  shame 
and  consternation  dyed  her  face,  ears,  and  neck.  But  the 
old  professor  at  the  piano  understood  it  all,  and  he  played 
bar  after  bar  of  an  inspiriting  melody,  until  his  favorite 
pupil  lost  her  fright,  and  her  natural  vanity  came  to  her 
aid.  She  sang  then  as  perhaps  even  her  enraptured 
teacher  had  never  heard  her  sing  before.  Her  glorious 
voice  rose,  filling  every  part  of  the  large  and  lofty  school 
hall,  and  it  swelled  into  magnificent  cadences  that  en 
tranced  her  hearers.  The  applause  burst  forth  simultane 
ously,  and  was  loud  and  long,  people  rising  in  their  seats 
the  better  to  view  the  beautiful  singer,  and  the  distin- 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  4J 


_  _  mtleman  turned  to  his  companion  and 
said  eagerly  :  "  That  is  my  daughter."  Her  performance 
on  the  harp  called  forth  another  enthusiastic  burst  of 
applause,  and  again  and  again  the  distinguished-looking 
gentleman  bent  to  his  companion  and  whispered  some 
laudatory  comment.  He  was  eager  for  the  close  of  the 
exercises  when  he  should  press  to  his  heart  this  peerlessly 
gifted  and  beautiful  creature. 

Miss  Edna  Edgar  was  summoned  to  the  piano.  She 
had  the  same  graceful  figure  and  fawnlike  step  of  her 
cousin,  and  as  she  moved  to  her  place,  people  seemed  to 
evince  as  great  a  desire  to  behold  her  as  they  had  mani 
fested  to  see  her  cousin.  From  her  name  and  marked 
resemblance  to  the  preceding  performer,  though  lacking 
the  remarkably  brilliant  beauty  of  Miss  Edgar,  the 
strangers  present  supposed  they  were  sisters,  and  her 
creditable,  though  not  very  able  performance,  was  listened 
to  with  nattering  attention.  To  Dyke  and  Meg  no  fingers 
ever  touched  piano  so  sweetly,  and  their  honest  faces 
flushed  with  pleasure,  and  their  hearts  beat  high  at  the 
applause  bestowed  on  their  darling. 

Mr.  Edgar  turned  to  his  companion,  saying :  "  That  is 
my  brother's  daughter,  of  whom  I  have  told  you;  she 
does  not  yet  know  that  I  am  her  uncle."  The  expressive 
face  of  the  stately  old  lady  had  a  shade  upon  it  for  a 
moment,  and  she  looked  more  earnestly  at  the  young 
performer  before  she  answered:  "Her  resemblance  to 
your  daughter,  and  consequently  to  you,  Mr.  Edgar,  is 
very  marked.  Still,  she  seems  neither  so  lovely,  nor  so 
gifted  as  your  child.  Do  you  intend  to  tell  her  to-day  of 
your  relationship  to  her?  " 

The  dark  handsome  face  grew  darker  for  a  moment ; 
"I  did  not  intend  to  do  so.  What  do  you  advise?" 
u  That  you  tell  her,  Mr.  Edgar.  She  is  your  own  flesh 
and  blood,  and  not  to  be  visited  for  the  sin  or  indiscretion 
of  her  parents."  "  You  are  right,"  he  whispered,  "  but 
I  cannot  tell  her  yet." 

The  valedictory  was  announced,  and  as  the  sweet,  dis- 


42  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tinct,  but  at  first  slightly  tremulous  tones  floated  out, 
Dyke  and  Meg  squeezed  hands  under  Meg's  shawl,  and 
as  the  speaker  gained  confidence,  and  won  a  closer  and 
more  enraptured  attention  by  her  perfect  elocution 
and  natural  manner,  Meg  cried  outright  for  joy,  and  her 
nephew's  eyes  for  an  instant  shone  with  a  suspicious 
moisture.  When  at  length  all  was  over,  and  the  pupils 
were  permitted  to  receive  their  friends,  Miss  Edgar  flew 
to  her  father's  embrace ;  but,  even  in  that  moment  of 
honest  emotion  on  his  part,  when  she  felt  his  tear  upon 
her  cheek,  vanity  and  triumph  that  he  was  so  handsome 
and  distinguished-looking,  so  superior  to  everybody  else's 
father  there,  were  the  feelings  uppermost  in  her  breast. 

Ned,  forgetful  of  everything  but  that  she  was  witli 
Meg  and  Dyke,  was  embracing  each,  and  crying  and 
laughing  in  turn. 

Mr.  Edgar  was  introducing  his  companion  to  his 
daughter,  and  the  elderly  lady,  bearing  that  impressive 
something  about  her  which  marks  the  grand  dame  of 
the  old  school,  acknowledged  the  introduction  with  a 
manner  that  made  her  sixty  years  as  charming  as  sixteen. 
She  had  a  sweet  face,  and  so  clear  a  complexion  that 
ono,  in  looking  at  her,  forgot  the  wrinkles  that  marked 
her  features. 

"And  now,"  continued  Mr.  Edgar,  to  his  daughter, 
"bring  us  to  your  friends,"  looking  in  the  direction 
of  the  group  of  which  Ned  was  the  centre. 

"  Is  not  that  young  man  .Dykard  Button  ?  He  is 
very  much  older'  and  manlier  grown ;  and  I  suppose 
that  is  Meg  Standish  with  him.  What  an  old  woman  she 
has  become." 

Tlio  young  lady  obeyed,  and  she  was  obliged  to  affect 
a  cordiality  in  her  greeting  of  the  mountain  friends 
whom  she  had  ignored  so  long,  when  she  saw  how 
truly  warm  were  her  father's  salutations. 

And  the  elderly  lady,  introduced  as  Mrs.  Stafford,  shook 
hands  with  Meg  in  her  plain  country  dress,  and  placed  her 
delicate  white  jewelled  hand  in  the  great  brown  hard 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  43 

palm  of  Dyke  with  as  sunny  a  smile  and  as  much 
graciousness  of  manner  as  if  both  were  her  equals  in 
the  social  scale.  To  Ned  she  gave  a  look  which  seemed 
to  express  her  secret  confidence  that  they  would  be 
intimate  friends  some  day. 

Dyke  was  interested  in  watching  Mr.  Edgar.  The 
decade  of  years  seemed  to  have  made  such  changes  in 
that  gentleman's  appearance.  His  abundant  black  hair 
and  thick  mustache  were  much  streaked  with  gray,  and 
his  handsome  forehead  was  indented  with  lines  that  told 
of  harassing  care  or  thought.  But  the  young  man's 
observations  were  terminated  by  the  object  of  them 
insisting  on  the  whole  party  accompanying  himself  and 
his  daughter  to  Barry  town,  and  there  making  at  least,  a 
brief  stay  before  going  to  their  mountain  home.  Meg 
was  quite  willing  to  do  so,  for  it  would  recall  the  old 
happy  times  when  Mr.  Edgar  was  her  master,  but 
Dyke  politely  demurred.  Perhaps  he  feared  that  the 
grandeur  of  the  place  would  make  Ned  discontented 
with  her  own  humble  abode,  and  perhaps  also  he  was 
selfish  enough  to  fear  that  Mr.  Edgar's  generosity  would 
go  to  the  extent  of  inviting  Ned  to  make  a  permanent 
stay  with  his  daughter.  Under  the  influence  of  such 
feelings  he  could  not  give  his  consent  immediately ;  but 
he  gave  it  at  length,  though  his  heart  was  filled  with 
a  strange  gloomy  foreboding. 

XIII. 

The  beauty  and  luxury  of  that  Barrytown  home 
ravished  the  young  heiress  with  a  delight  that  readied 
its  culmination  when  she  found  that  the  thoughtful 
kindness  of  her  father  had  provided  even  a  trained  pony 
for  her  use.  She  and  her  cousin  had  been  taught  to  ride 
at  school,  and  happiness  as  usual  making  her  exceedingly 
good-natured,  she  insisted  that  Ned  should  have  the  first 
canter  on  the  graceful  and  gentle  little  animal.  There 
was  a  groom  in  attendance,  but  Dyke  being  within  sight, 


4A  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Ned  took  the  responsibility  of  inviting  him  to  attend 
her,  and  Miss  Edgar,  in  her  exceeding  great  joy,  forgot  to 
make  secret  fun  of  him  as  she  might  at  another  time 
have  done. 

So  the  pair  went  out  to  the  road,  Dyke  keeping  a 
little  behind,  both  to  admire  the  graceful  rider  and  to 
war  with  his  own  unhappy  thoughts.  Something  that  he 
had  never  realized  before  came  to  him  now.  He  passed 
his  hand  over  his  forehead  and  said  between  his  teeth : 

"  Fool,  blind  mad  fool  that  I  have  been,  not  to  have 
been  prepared  for  this."  But  Ned  was  turning  in  her 
saddle  to  see  why  he  loitered,  and  calling  to  him  with  all 
the  simplicity -of  her  early  years,  reminding  him  when 
their  horses  were  again  together,  of  the  quaint  fancies  of 
her  childhood  about  the  trees  and  plants,  and  demanding 
in  her  playful  eager  way  answers  to  every  one  of  her 
remarks. 

He  averted  his  face  whenever  her  eyes  sought  his  own, 
and  he  replied  to  her  with  what  firmness  he  could 
assume  ;  but  every  tone  of  her  voice  pierced  his  heart,  and 
every  touch  of  her  fingers,  as  sometimes  in  her  eager  con 
versation,  when  they  were  ambling  slowly  along,  she 
flung  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  was  like  a  cruel  blow,  for 
he  felt  that  soon  tone  and  touch  must  bo  lost  to  him 
forever.  That  night  he  sought  Mr.  Edgar  for  a  private 
interview. 

If  the  gentleman  was  surprised,  he  did  not  betray  the 
feeling,  and  he  invited  the  young  man  to  a  seat  with  ex 
ceeding  graciousness.  But  Dyke  replied  : 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Edgar;  but  my  business  will  be 
communicated  better  standing.  It  is  about  Edna —  "  he 
had  almost  said  Ned — "  I  have  come  to  know  if  you  have 
any  plans  for  her  future." 

The  gentleman  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  instead, 
he  looked  very  earnestly  at  the  young  man  as  if  he  would 
read  his  thoughts,  and  when  he  did  speak,  there  was  a 
strange  uncertainty  about  his  manner. 

"I   really   have   no   plans   further   than   to   continue 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

to  keep  lier  in  ignorance  of  her  relationship  to  me,  and  to 
remunerate  you  from  time  to  time  for  jour  care  of  her." 

"Then  you  desire  that  she  shall  make  her  home  with 
my  aunt  and  me,  as  she  did  before  she  left  us  to  go  to 
school?" 

"  Yes  ;  unless  you  object." 

Dyke  flushed  hotly.  "  I  must  object,  Mr.  Edgar,  for 
her  sake.  You  have  educated  her  beyond  such  a  life,  and 
it  would  be  unjust,  not  to  say  cruel,  to  bury  one  of  her 
attainments  and  gifts  in  a  home  so  plain  and  lowly  as 
ours  is.  Had  you  eleven  years  ago  resigned  all  claim 
upon,  and  all  interest  in  her,  we  would  have  reared  her 
according  to  our  means,  and  she  might  not  then  be  so  un 
fitted  to  be  one  of  us.  Now  she  is  a  lady,  and  far,  far 
above  us.  Also,  Mr.  Edgar,  she  is  your  flesh  and  blood, 
and  entitled  from  that  fact  to  much  consideration  on  your 
part ;  let  the  generosity  which  has  impelled  you  to 
educate  her  provide  for  her  now." 

How  the  heart  of  the  speaker  rose  up  and  well-nigh 
choked  him  as  he  uttered  the  last  words  ;  but  Dyke's  was 
a  brave  nature,  and  rather  than  turn  aside  from  a  purpose 
once  surely  chosen,  he  could  have  borne  to  pluck  out  his 
own  heart. 

Mr.  Edgar  was  somewhat  annoyed ;  it  was  the  second 
time  in  the  course  of  a  week  that  the  fact  of  Ned's  being 
his  own  flesh  and  blood  was  thrust  into  his  face,  and 
much  though  he  might  recognize  that  fact  secretly,  he 
disliked  any  open  allusion  to  it.  Besides,  he  had  not  now 
the  slightest  doubt  that  the  beautiful  girl  whom  he  called 
his  daughter  was  really  such,  and  in  proportion  as  bis 
heart  went  rapturously  out  to  her,  so  did  his  indifference 
to  his  brother's  child  increase.  Every  time  that  his  eyes 
rested  upon  her  he  fancied  that  he  detected  new  and 
marked  resemblances  to  his  brother,  his  hatred  of  whom 
neither  time  nor  distance  seemed  to  soften.  Having 
educated  Ned,  and  having  offered  to  remunerate  any 
future  care  of  her,  he  felt  that  he  had  done  all  that  could 


4:6  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

be  required,  and  no  thought  of  her  now  disturbed  him, 
until  Dyke  brought  her  so  unpleasantly  before  him. 

He  made  a  turn  of  the  room  before  he  answered  ; 
then,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  his  head  thrown 
slightly  forward,  he  said  : 

"  Marry  her,  Dyke ;  I  shall  dower  her  well,  and  then 
both  her  future  and  your  own  will  be  assured." 

Scorn  flashed  from  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  his 
voice  was  tremulous  with  sudden  anger.  "  Your  niece  "- 
with  a  line  emphasis  on  the  latter  word —  "  Mr.  Edgar,  is 
not  a  chattel  to  be  disposed  of  in  such  a  manner.  She 
has  a  heart  to  be  consulted,  and  were  I  her  equal  by  birth 
and  education,  as  I  am  greatly  her  inferior,  still  would 
such  a  marriage  be  impossible,  because  she  regards 
me  only  as  a  brother." 

Mr.  Edgar  was  silent,  but  his  head  was  erect  now,  and 
his  eyes  looking  through  Dyke's  face.  Secretly,  he  was 
admiring  this  blunt,  fearless  fellow,  for  he  half  suspected 
that  the  young  man  loved,  and  loved  dearly,  the  fair  sub 
ject  of  their  discussion.  "  What  would  you  have  me 
do  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

Dyke  answered  slowly  ;  every  word  was  a  knell  to  his 
own  affection.  "  Since  you  have  given  her  equal  ad 
vantages  of  education  with  your  own  daughter,  give  her 
the  same  advantages  of  a  home.  They  can  be  like  sisters 
and,  after  all,  they  will  be  the  most  proper  companions  for 
each  other." 

The  gentleman  made  another  turn  of  the  room  ;  lie 
could  think  best  when  walking,  and  he  was  mentally  dis 
cussing  this  proposition  with  all  its  advantages  and 
disadvantages. 

Did  he  give  his  brother's  child  a  home,  her  companion- 
si  lip  might  render  unnecessary  for  a  longer  time  the 
company  which,  for  his  daughter's  sake,  he  intended  to  in 
vite  to  the  house — might  secure  to  him  for  a  year  or  two 
that  country  solitude  which  now,  being  enlivened  by  his 
daughter,  would  be  doubly  delightful — and  might  in 
deed  procure  for  him  a  longer  term  of  his  child's  society ; 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  47 

for  when  company,  and  especially  of  the  opposite  sex, 
came  to  the  house,  it  was  natural  to  suppose  that  Miss 
Edgar's  marriage  might  speedily  follow. 

Thus  it  seemed  well  to  agree  to  Dyke's  proposition,  and 
Mr.  Edgar  did  so  briefly,  and  then  seemed  to  consider  the 
interview  ended,  and  the  young  man  went  out — out  to 
walk  in  the  dark  sllont  grounds.  He  needed  solitude  to 
compose  himself,  and  something  in  the  darkness  seemed 
to  help  him  also,  as  if  it  brought  nearer  that  great, 
invisible  Presence  which  strengthens  for  sacrifice,  and 
supports  in  trial.  Then  he  sought  Meg,  and  broke  the 
news  of  the  change  in  Ned's  prospects  to  her.  At  first, 
delight  that  her  darling  would  be  indeed  a  lady,  having 
all  the  grandeur  to  which  she  was  truly  entitled,  over 
powered  every  other  emotion  ;  then  came  a  feeling  of 
wild  grief,  as  she  realized  how  Ned's  good  fortune 
must  sever  the  old  relations  between  them ;  and  lastly  her 
anxieties  all  turned  to  Dyke. 

"  What'll  you  do  ?  "  she  said  through  her  tears.  "  It 
was  for  her  you  wanted  everything,  and  now  she  '11  no 
come  wi'  us  any  more." 

"Never  mind  me,  Aunt  Meg;  I'm  a  man,  with  a 
man's  strength,  and  I'll  work  the  same  as  if  it  was  for 
her.  Indeed,  I  shall  be  comforted  by  the  thought  that 
she  is  well  provided  for.  Some  day  she  will  marry  one 
of  her  own  kind,  and  I  shall  be  proud  and  happy  to  see 
her  happiness."  His  voice  quivered  in  spite  of  himself,  * 
and  his  aunt  detected  it. 

"  Ay,  lad  ;  thee'lt  be  proud  .and  happy  when  thy  hair 
is  gray,  and  thy  form  is  stooped,  and  thy  old  aunt  is  gone, 
and  thee'st  ne'er  a  hearth  of  thy  own  to  sit  by,  through 
loving  and  waiting,  with  never  the  heart  to  ask  and — 

He  stopped  her  with  a  kiss. 

"You  wouldn't  have  me  ask,  Aunt  Meg,  when  the 
very  asking  might  make  her  consent,  for  fear  of  ingrati 
tude  ;  consent,  even  though  she  couldn't  give  me  her 
heart's  love." 

"That's   true,  lad ;  it   might  be  so."     And   then   her 


48  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

thoughts  reverted  to  all  that  Dyke  had  told  her  of  his 
interview ;  he  had  prudently  reserved  Mr.  Edgar's  pro 
posal  to  him  to  marry  his  niece,  saying : 

"  And  didn't  Mr.  Edgar  say  some'at  about  your  own 
matters  ?  And  didn't  you  tell  him  anything  about  your 
invention  ?  " 

Dyke  smiled. 

"  He  was  too  full  of  the  other  subject  ;  and  besides, 
what  need  to  tell  him  ?  If  the  invention  succeeds,  as  it 
seems  likely  to  do  now,  he  may  hear  about  it,  and  then, 
you  fond,  foolish  old  aunt,  there  will  be  enough  to  grat 
ify  your  pride." 

Again  kissing  her,  he  left  her. 


XIY. 

The  next  morning,  after  another  interview  with  Meg, 
Dyke  sought  Ned. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  alone,"  he  said,  for  Miss  Edgar  was 
in  a  part  of  the  room  writing  an  order  for  something 
that  was  to  be  brought  from  lihinebeck. 

The  unusually  grave,  and  even  somewhat  troubled 
expression  of  his  face  alarmed  Ned,  and  without  even 
waiting  to  tell  her  cousin  that  she  was  going  into  the 
grounds,  she  took  his  arm  and  hurried  forth. 

Neither  spoke  until  they  had  reached  a  very  secluded 
part ;  then  Dyke,  motioning  his  companion  to  a  seat  on 
the  mossy  eminence,  threw  himself  down  beside  her. 

It  was  a  harder  task  than  he  had  thought,  this  breaking 
to  Ned  of  the  change  in  her  fortune,  and  she  sat  so 
quietly  waiting  for  him  to  begin.  She  asked  no  question, 
but  her  great,  lustrous,  guileless  eyes  looked  at  him  very 
earnestly.  He  could  have  looked  at  her  forever,  she 
formed  so  sweet  a  picture  with  her  wealth  of  raven  hair 
coiled  simply  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  her  rich,  dark 
complexion.  But  he  had  to  begin. 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  here  always,  Ned  ?  " 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  49 

"  No  ;  is  that  wliat  you  liad  to  say  to  me  ?  "  her  lips 
parting  into  a  lialf  smile. 

He  resumed  :  "  Mr.  Edgar  proposes  that  you  make 
your  home  here  with  his  daughter ;  you  will  be  treated 
as  if  you  were  her  sister." 

The  smile  faded  from  her  lips. 

"  Mr.  Edgar  is  very  kind,  but  I  prefer  my  home  with 
Meg  and  you." 

Dyke  said  again :  "  But  Meg  and  I  think  it  best  for 
you,  Ned,  to  accept  Mr.  Edgar's  offer." 

"  What !  not  to  live  with  Meg  and  you  any  more — not 
to  consider  that  dear  old  place  way  up  among  the  moun 
tains  my  home  for  the  future  ?  " 

She  could  say  no  more  for  the  great  lump  which  came 
suddenly  into  her  throat,  and  in  another  moment  she 
had  burst  into  tears  and  was  crying  with  all  the  abandon 
of  her  childish  days.  How  Dyke's  own  heart  beat,  and 
how  something  in  his  own  throat  rose  up  ;  but  he  set 
his  teeth  firmly  together,  and  fastened  his  hands  into  the 
earth  beside  him,  that  he  might  not,  in  spite  of  himself, 
clasp  this  beloved  one  to  his  heart  and  whisper  that  she 
might  make  his  home  always  hers  if  she  would. 

His  nature,  strong  and  ardent  as  it  was,  was  too  noble 
for  such  a  course.  He  was  not  her  equal,  and  if  he  were, 
he  would  refrain  from  asking  her  heart's  affection  until 
he  had  given  her  time  and  opportunity  to  test  it.  So 
he  answered,  when  he  had  recovered  his  wonted  calm  : 

"  Remember,  Ned,  that  you  are  a  woman  now,  and 
must  submit  to  the  dictates  of  your  judgment  rather  than 
those  of  your  heart.  A  residence  here  will  be  better  for 
you  in  many  ways.  Mr.  Patten,  who  has  busied  himself 
about  my  invention  for  some  months  past,  has  everything 
in  readiness  for  us  to  travel  together  about  it  now,  and 
Meg  being  long  anxious  to  see  some  cousins  of  hers  in 
Albany,  I  shall  leave  her  with  them  while  I  am  away ; 
so,  you  see,  the  little  mountain  home  is  no  place  for  you. 
What  in  the  world  " — brightening  a  little — "  would  you 


50  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

do  there  ?  ~No  piano,  no  society,  no  books  such  as  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  give  me  such  an  education  ? "  she 
asked  through  her  tears.  "  Better  you  had  saved  the 
money  spent  on  me,  and  brought  me  up  simply  in  that 
little  mountain  home.  I  should  have  been  just  as  happy, 
I  am  sure." 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  I  had  paid  for  your  educa 
tion  2 "  asked  Dyke. 

"No;  but  I  supposed,  of  course,  you  had  ;  am  I  not 
right  in  supposing  so  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  reply.  How  he 
regretted  not  having  obtained  Mr.  Edgar's  permission  to 
reveal  to  her  the  truth  about  the  matter.  His  silence, 
however,  was  giving  to  her  the  revelation  he  fain  would 
have  made* 

"  I   see  it   all  now,"  she   said,  springing   to  her  feet. 

Mr.  Edgar  lias  paid  for  my  education." 

Dyke  also  arose. 

"He  did  not  want  you  to  know  that,  Ned,  and  you 
must  tell  him  how  it  has  come  about,  for  I  do  not  ex 
pect  to  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him  privately 
again." 

"  But  wny  should  he  do  so  much  for  me  ? "  she  per 
sisted. 

"  Because  he  is  wealthy,  and  he  knew  your  f amilv  in 
England." 

She  continued  :  "  It  is  singular  how  every  one  belong 
ing  to  me  died,  and  that  there  was  only  Meg  and  you  to 
take  care  of  me." 

"  We  gave  you  such  care  as  we  could,"  said  Dyke, 
anxious  to  get  her  thoughts  away  from  her  family,  lest  she 
should  divine  other  things  about  herself,  as  well  as  she 
had  divined  who  had  paid  for  her  education  ;  "  and  I  don't 
think  in  the  matter  of  the  affection  you  gave  us  it  made 
much  difference  whether  we  were  your  own,  or  not." 

"  Indeed,  no  ; "  was  the  earnest  reply.  "  You  were  my 
brother  always,  and  always  shall  be  my  brother." 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  51 

With  a  sharp  pang  he  felt  the  truth  of  her  words ;  as  a 
brother,  and  as  a  brother  alone,  would  she  ever  love  him. 
But  he  went  on  bravely  enough:  "You  see  now,  Ned, 
that,  owing  so  much  to  Mr.  Edgar,  you  can  hardly  refuse 
him  when  he  wishes  you  to  live  here  for  companionship 
for  his  daughter." 

"  Perhaps  he  just  educated  me  for  that,"  speaking  a 
little  sarcastically,  and  drawing  herself  up. 

"  No,  no ;  you  are  mistaken.  I  am  sure  he  did  not 
entertain  such  a  thought." 

"  Well,  let  Mr.  Edgar  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  and  tell 
me  about  yourself.  Are  you  poor,  Dyke  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  before  answering, 
demanded  to  know  why  she  asked. 

"  Only  because,  as  your  sister,  I  have  a  right  to  know 
all  your  circumstances,  and  to  know  also  whether  Mr. 
Edgar,  in  his  great  generosity  to  me,  has  done  anything 
for  you  ? " 

Dyke  smiled. 

"  My  circumstances  at  present  do  not  need  any  aid  from 
Mr.  Edgar ;  and  if  this  invention  succeeds,  I  shall  be  a 
rich  man."  For  one  whirling  moment  a  great  hope  filled 
his  heart ;  if  he  became  a  rich  and  noted  man,  and  Ned 
should  remain  unmarried,  perhaps  her  hand  might  one 
day  be  his.  It  was  a  hope  so  sweet  and  bright  that  it 
gave  a  more  cheerful  tone  to  his  voice  as  he  continued  : 
u  All  my  aunt's  savings  and  my  own  are  sunk  in  this 
invention,  and  if  it  should  tarn  out  a  failure  we  would  be 
pretty  poor ;  but  there  is  no  fear  of  that,  everything  is  so 
promising  now." 

"  And  how  long  before  your  hopes  can  be  fulfilled  ?  " 
Her  face  was  flushed  and  eager. 

"  A  year,  perhaps  two  ;  for  people,  especially  country 
people,  are  so  slow  to  accept  improvements." 

"  Well,  for  the  present  then,  I  shall  accept  Mr.  Edgar's 
offer  of  a  home." 

Her  lips  quivered  and  her  eyes  were  full,  but  she  did 
not  let  Dyke  see. 


52  A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

XY. 

Life  at  Weewald  Place,  as  Miss  Edgar  christened  her 
father's  spacious  home  (having  taken  the  name  from  one 
of  the  novels  she  had  managed  to  read  surreptitiously  at 
school)  was  enchanting  enough,  could  Ned  divest  herself 
of  a  certain  uncomfortable  feeling  of  dependence.  Every 
where  she  turned  there  wTas  a  haunting  reminder  of  her 
obligations  to  Mr.  Edgar ;  a  feeling  that  was  intensified 
by  his  own  cold,  stately  courtesy  toward  her ;  for,  while 
he  was  careful  to  see  that  she  received  equal  attention 
with  his  daughter,  he  could  not  vail  his  own  feelings 
sufficiently  to  treat  her  with  more  than  the  utmost  polite 
ness.  Her  face  recalled,  or  he  imagined  it  did,  the 
lineaments  of  his  hated  brother,  and  he  often  forbore, 
even  when  talking  to  her,  to  allow  his  eyes  to  meet  hers. 
So,  while  his  countenance  kindled  with  pleasure  at  the 
approach  of  his  daughter,  it  often  fell  at  the  coming  of 
his  niece ;  and  while  his  voice  frequently  assumed  an  ex 
quisite  tenderness  in  addressing  Edna,  it  was  more 
frequently  cold,  almost  to  repulsion,  when  speaking  to 
Ned.  And  Ned  felt  the  difference ;  felt  it  many  times 
with  a  sickened  heart  as  she  contrasted  it  with  the  warm 
affection  of  Meg  and  Dyke. 

Mr.  Edgar's  coldness  weighed  upon  her  the  more  that 
she  constantly  remembered  how  much  she  owed  to  him 
in  the  matter  of  her  education.  In  accordance  with 
Dyke's  wish,  she  had  taken  an  early  opportunity  of  ex 
plaining  to  the  gentleman  how  she  had  learned,  or  rather 
of  herself  had  divined  her  indebtedness,  and  she  had 
attempted  to  express  her  gratitude.  But  Mr.  Edgar 
sternly  desired  her  to  stop,  and  his  manner,  even  more 
than  his  words,  had  made  her  feel  that  she  was  never  to 
refer  to  the  subject  again. 

Regarding  other  things  she  had  nothing  of  which  to 
complain.  The  servants  were  as  deferential  as  if  she  also 
were  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,  though  they  were  not  slow  in 
ascertaining  and  repeating  among  themselves  that  she 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  53 

was  only  a  dependent,  and  really  belonged  to  a  poor  home 
up  among  the  mountains,  and  Mrs.  Stafford  took  a  kindly 
interest  in  her. 

Miss  Edgar  herself,  delighted  with  the  novelty  and 
beauty  of  a  home  that  exceeded  even  her  expectations, 
and  in  rapture  with  a  father  who  seemed  disposed  to 
gratify  all  her  wishes,  was  exceptionally  companionable. 
It  added  to  her  pleasures  to  have  Ned  share  them,  and 
she  often  astonished  our  heroine  by  a  sudden  embrace, 
and  an  exclamation  expressive  of  her  delight  that  they 
were  together. 

The  cousins  took  long  daily  rides — a  gentle,  graceful 
pony  having  been  provided  for  Ned — and,  to  her,  those 
hours  in  the  saddle  were  the  happiest  ones  of  the  day. 
There  was  a  sense  of  independence  and  freedom  on  the 
horse's  back  that  proximity  to  Mr.  Edgar's  presence  pre 
vented  her  from  feeling  in  the  house,  and  she  was  very 
thankful  that  the  gentleman  never  offered  to  accompany 
them. 

It  was  well  she  did  not  divine  that  she  herself  wras  the 
obstacle  to  his  attendance.  lie  would  not  endure  of  tener 
than  was  absolutely  necessary  the  company  of  his 
brother's  child. 

One  afternoon,  somewhat  tired  from  a  longer  canter 
than  usual,  and  very  thirsty,  the  riders  drew  up  with 
longing  eyes  before  a  spring  bubbling  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  The  groom,  in  obedience  to  the  imperative  order 
of  Miss  Edgar,  who  wanted  at  all  times  to  be  certain  that 
the  man  could  never  overhear  her  conversation,  was  a 
long  way  behind.  There  was  no  house  in  sight,  and  Ned 
decided  to  dismount  and  help  herself  to  a  drink  in  the 
manner  she  used  to  do  when  a  child ;  but,  ere  she  could 
spring  from  her  stirrup,  there  was  a  rustling  among  the 
foliage  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  in  a  moment 
there  appeared  a  tall,  graceful  young  man  carrying  what 
might  be  a  portfolio  of  sketches.  He  was  evidently  no 
rustic,  for  his  dress  was  of  stylish  city  mode,  and  it  was 
worn  with  a  certain  neglige  quite  becoming.  He  seemed 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

to  understand  the  desire  of  the  ladies,  and  with  a  bow  as 
graceful  as  it  was  courteous,  he  said  in  a  deep,  low,  musical 
voice : 

"  Do  not,  ladies,  be  at  the  trouble  of  dismounting ; 
allow  me  to  bring  you  a  drink  in  our  rustic  way." 

He  laid  his  portfolio  down,  and  darted  into  the  wood 
which  skirted  one  side  of  the  road.  When  he  returned 
he  bore  with  him  leaves  skilfully  formed  into  cups. 
Filling  one  with  the  sparkling  spring  water,  he  presented 
it  to  Miss  Edgar.  She  quaffed,  and  returned  the  leafy 
vessel ;  her  eyes  meeting  his,  and  her  face  suffused  with 
a  hot  blush.  She  had  never  seen  such  eyes,  nor  such  a 
face ;  to  her  girlish  fancy,  all  unformed  in  the  matter  of 
manly  beauty,  both  were  perfect,  and  the  unbounded 
but  respectful  admiration  his  look  expressed  set  her  heart 
to  beating  rapidly. 

Ned  also  quaffed  from  the  second  leafy  cup  he  presented 
to  her,  but  further  than  to  thank  him  briefly  she  scarcely 
looked  at  the  bearer,  and  she  was  somewhat  surprised  to 
find  her  cousin  asking  of  the  groom,  who  had  overtaken 
them  and  whom  she  had  beckoned  to  her  side  when  they 
were  out  of  sight  of  the  stranger,  if  he  knew  the  latter. 

u  Yes,  Miss ;  he  is  Jim  Mackay's  son.  Jim  Mackay, 
the  gardener,  that  lives  a  little  below  there,"  indicating 
with  his  whip  a  point  south  of  the  direction  they  were 
taking.  "  He's  never  been  much  good  to  his  father,  having 
ways  different  from  us  country-folks,  and  taking  to  books, 
and  painting  and  such  things.  An  uncle  of  his  took  him 
away  to  Europe  a  few  years  ago,  and  now  he's  just  come 
back,  and  his  father  says  he's  as  bad  as  ever  about  books, 
and  making  pictures  of  everything." 

Miss  Edgar  made  no  reply,  and  the  groom  fell  back  to 
his  usual  respectful  distance. 

The  next  day  they  took  the  same  route,  Ned  forgetti  ig 
the  occurrence  of  the  previous  day  until  handsome  young 
Mackay  started  before  them  ;  there  was  no  excuse  to  stop, 
Miss  Edgar  being  afraid  to  feign  thirst  as  she  would  like 
to  do,  lest  her  feint  should  be  discovered  by  her  cousin, 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  55 

and  so  there  was  only  an  exchange  of  bows.  But  the 
heiress  could  devise  other  means  of  meeting  one  who  had 
made  such  an  impression  on  her  susceptible  heart ;  and 
all  that  she  had  heard  about  him  but  enhanced  her  strange 
predilection.  "His  ways  so  different  from  those  of 
country-folks,  his  taste  for  books  and  painting,"  what 
were  they  all  but  indications  of  a  refined  and  cultured 
mind  ?  It  would  be  like  some  of  the  stories  she  had  so 
surreptitiously  read,  for  her  to  help  him  secretly — to  lend 
him  books,  to  impart  to  him  some  of  her  own  instruction, 
and  at  length  to  make  him  feel  how  much  he  owed  to 
her;  it  would  be  delightful,  and  quite  justifiable,  since 
her  father  so  unaccountably  deferred  asking  company  to 
the  house.  Also,  by  making  this  young  man  her  protege 
there  would  be  afforded  an  opportunity  to  satisfy  partially 
her  craving  for  admiration,  for  she  felt  that  the  handsome 
face  that  had  looked  up  to  her  while  she  drank  was  then 
and  there  caught  in  the  toils  of  her  beauty.  She  had 
some  misgiving  about  the  propriety  of  this  quixotic  plan 
of  hers,  and  of  the  stern  disapproval  of  her  father  should 
lie  hear  of  it ;  but  her  misgiving  was  of  short  duration. 
She  craved  excitement,  and  since  Weewald  Place  furnished 
non-3,  she  would  embrace  this  opportunity  of  making  it 
for  herself. 

Thus  Dick  Mackay  found  himself  the  recipient  of  an 
order  for  some  sketches  of  the  scenery  about  Barrytown, 
and  he  was  further  delighted  by  the  present  of  a  valuable 
book  on  the  art  of  sketching.  The  note  that  accompanied 
the  present  besought  the  utmost  secrecy,  and  contained 
at  the  same  time  a  most  flattering  offer  to  assist  the  young 
man  in  any  way  that  was  in  the  writer's  power. 

Dick  had  one  confidant — a  sister  a  year  younger  than 
he  was;  a  fragile,  delicate  girl,  but  one  so  gentle  and 
winning  in  disposition  that  she  gained  love  as  easily  as 
she  breathed.  She  sympathized  with  Dick  ;  she  entered 
into  all  his  tastes,  she  admired  him,  and  she  wellnigh 
worshipped  him ;  all  of  which  feelings  the  handsome, 
dreamy,  poetical  young  fellow  returned.  To  her  then 


56  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Dick  showed  the  note,  and  told  everything,  even  to  the 
revelation  of  his  own  sudden  but  deep  attachment  for 
Miss  Edgar,  and  he  laughed  at  the  castles  in  the  air  which 
his  sister  built.  She  could  see  neither  the  impossibility 
nor  the  improbability  of  a  future  marriage  of  her  brother 
to  the  heiress.  In  her  eyes,  Dick  was  handsome  and  clever 
enough  for  a  princess,  and  good  enough  to  win  even  Mr. 
Edgar's  warm  regard  could  that  gentleman  but  know  him ; 
at  which  sweet  praises  Dick  laughed  again,  but  he  did  not 
contradict  her.  Stranger  things  had  happened,  and  love 
that  stops  at  no  barrier  might  even  overthrow  Mr. 
Edgar's  opposition. 

XYI. 

The  canker  of  discontent  entered  more  and  more  into 
Ned's  heart,  being  enhanced  by  the  change  which  had 
come  into  her  cousin's  manner  ;  for  Edna,  fast  in  the  toils 
of  an  attachment  she  dared  not  reveal,  and  for  the  secrecy 
of  which  she  was  always  anxiously  planning,  had  grown 
unaccountably  estranged  from  Ned.  She  seldom  rode  or 
walked  with  her,  and  often  seemed  disposed  to  avoid  all 
conversation,  and  the  sensitive,  spirited  girl  was  too  proud 
to  seek  any  explanation,  or  to  make  any  complaint.  She 
never  dreamed  of  the  secret  acquaintance  progressing 
under  her  very  eyes,  nor  that  it  was  fear  of  her  own 
truthful,  straightforward  character  which  made  Miss 
Edgar  assume  so  chilling  a  demeanor. 

She  heard  rarely  from  Dyke,  as  his  frequent  journeys 
and  ceaseless  business  pertaining  to  his  invention  left  him 
little  time  ;  he  did  not  add  that  by  this  infrequent  writing 
to  her  he  was  schooling  himself ;  schooling  himself  to  be 
prepared  to  yield  her  entirely,  when  occasion  should 
demand  it;  and  Meg,  since  Dyke  was  not  likely  to  be 
home  until  spring,  had  decided  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Albany. 

It  was  now  November,  and  as  Ned  counted  the  months 
until  summer,  before  which  season  she  could  not  expect 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  57 

to  make  the  briefest  visit  to  her  mountain  home,  her 
heart  sank. 

"  I  cannot  endure  it,"  she  said,  pressing  her  forehead 
against  the  window  of  her  own  room  by  which  she  was 
standing ;  that  room,  in  whose  comfort  and  elegance  she 
found  less  charm  than  in  tracing  in  imagination  against  the 
sky  the  outlines  of  her  own  loved  mountains.  Then  she 
thought,  as  she  had  often  thought  lately,  about  Dyke's 
means,  and  whether  she  might  nofc  earn  her  own  liveli 
hood;  and  a  livelihood  that  might  even  enable  her  to 
make  frequent  remittances  to  Meg.  She  was  sure  she 
could  be  happy  doing  some  tiling  like  that,  and  then  her 
summer  visit  would  be  truly  delightful. 

She  went  to  her  desk,  and  wrote  to  Mrs.  Mowbray,  the 
womanly  and  kind-hearted  principal  of  the  Pennsylvania 
institute. 

It  was  a  characteristic  letter,  honest  and  open  as  her 
own  nature,  and  so  clearly  stated  that  to  the  good  lady 
who  received  it,  it  was  a  complete  mirror  of  the  writer's 
feelings. 

She  waited  for  the  answer  with  feverish  impatience. 
It  came  promptly,  and  she  read  : 

"My  DEAR  Miss  EDNA  EDGAR: — It  was,  as  you  sur 
mised,  with  a  good  deal  of  astonishment  that  I  read  your 
letter.  I  think  I  understand  the  feelings  you  describe  so 
clearly,  and  knowing  your  nature  as  I  do,  I  must  admit 
that  I  sympathize  with  them.  Whether,  however,  it  will 
be  best  for  you  to  choose  a  self-supporting  life  while  Mr. 
Edgar's  home  so  generously  shelters  you  I  cannot  say. 
I  would  advise  you  to  place  the  matter  before  him. 

"  Singularly  enough,  at  the  very  moment  of  receiving 
your  letter,  I  was  handed  another  from  a  very  wealthy, 
but  exceedingly  eccentric  friend  of  mine.  She  is  a 
widow,  and  living  now  on  the  Hudson,  not  many  miles 
from  your  present  home.  She  desires  a  companion,  a 
young  lady  who  will  be  willing  to  accommodate  herself 
to  whims  and  vagaries ;  her  duties  will  be  exceedingly 


58  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

light  (but  I  add  from  myself  that  I  fear  they  will  be  very 
trying)  and  her  remuneration  will  be  quite  liberal. 

"  If,  my  dear  Miss  Edna,  you  are  disposed  to  try  this 
position,  and  that  you  gain  Mr.  Edgar's  consent  and  ap 
proval,  the  place  is  open  to  you." 

Ned  went  with  the  letter  to  Mr.  Edgar ;  she  met  him 
in  the  broad  entrance  hail,  and  at  the  same  moment  a 
servant  crossed,  carrying  a  rare  and  exquisite  southern 
exotic.  The  gentleman,  attracted  by  the  beauty  and  rarity 
of  the  flower,  stopped  the  bearer. 

"  Mr.  Dick  Mackay  sent  it,  sir ;  it  is  the  first  of  the 
kind  that  has  blossomed  in  one  of  the  new  sort  of  green 
houses  his  father 's  had  put  up,  and  Mr.  Dick  cut  this 
flower  off  to  send  to  Miss  Ned  Edgar." 

Mr.  Edgar  frowned,  and  looked  with  something  like 
angry  wonder  at  the  young  girl  who  was  now  standing 
beside  him ;  but  he  said  no  more,  only  motioned  to  the 
servant  to  deliver  the  gift. 

Ned,  being  full  of  her  errand  to  Mr.  Edgar,  took  it 
mechanically,  and  she  gave  hardly  a  thought  to  the 
strangeness  of  Dick  Mackay — whom  she  rarely  saw,  and 
then  never  to  bestow  upon  him  the  slightest  recognition- 
making  any  such  gift  to  her,  and  she  turned  immediately 
to  Mr.  Edgar  to  ask  him  for  a  private  interview. 

That  gentleman  was  secretly  very  much  displeased ; 
was  the  bad  blood  of  his  brother  already  showing  itself  in 
his  child,  that  she  could,  in  defiance  of  all  propriety  and 
all  obligations  to  him,  form  such  an  acquaintance  with  a 
gardener's  son  as  emboldened  the  latter  to  the  presump 
tion  he  had  just  witnessed ;  a  presumption  that  amounted 


to  familiarity,  judging  by  the  fact  that  the  plant  was  sent 
to  Miss  "  Ned  "  Edgar  ;  in  the  house,  owing  to  his  daughter's 
preference  for  the  name,  she  was  called  Miss  Ned  Edgar. 


Such  being  the  case,  Ned  was  no  companion  for  his  child, 
and  he  led  the  way  to  the  library  with  his  wonted  courtesy, 
but  with  a  very  grave  and  stern  face.  At  the  door  he 
paused  to  say  with  an  ill-concealed  sarcasm : 

"  Allow  me  to  ring  for  your  flower  to  be  taken  care 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  59 

of ;  it  may  wilt  before  you  can  give  it  your  attention," 
with  a  slightly  marked  emphasis  on  the  word  your. 

But  unsuspecting  I^ed  noticed  neither  his  sarcasm  nor 
his  emphasis ;  she  noticed  nothing  save  his  sternness, 
which  chilled  and  frightened  her,  and  when  the  servant 
appeared  she  gave  up  the  flower  mechanically,  heard  like 
one  who  heard  not,  Mr.  Edgar's  directions  for  its  care, 
and  sank  into  the  seat  he  drew  forward  for  her  like  one 
cruelly  oppressed. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,"  he  said  coldly,  when  he  had 
waited  an  unusual  length  of  time  for  her  to  begin. 

She  was  roused  at  last ;  the  old  hot  spirit  flamed 
within  her,  and  while  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  secret  indignation  that  she  had  borne  this 
servitude  so  long,  she  handed  him  the  letter. 

"  This  will  tell  you  my  object  in  desiring  this  inter 
view." 

Her  very  voice  was  trembling  from  suppressed  indig 
nation. 

He  read  the  letter,  a,nd  evidently  more  than  once — it 
was  so  long  before  he  looked  up. 

Did  she  wish  to  leave  Weewald  Place  so  as  to  facilitate, 
perhaps,  her  marriage  with  Dick  Mackay  ?  Such  was  the 
thought  that  flashed  through  his  mind  and  which  kept 
his  eyes  fastened  to  the  letter,  even  after  lie  had  perused 
it.  Had  she,  even  in  her  bold-facedness,  come  to  tell 
him  that  she  had  made  this  low  match  for  herself,  as  her 
father  before  her  had  done  for  himself  ? 

He  looked  up  and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

She  arose. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Edgar,  for  the  charity" — there  was 
a  trembling  emphasis  on  the  last  word — "which  has 
educated  me  and  given  me  a  home  ;  I  thank  you  partic 
ularly  for  the  education  which  I  now  feel  will  enable  me 
to  gain  my  own  support." 

She  was  obliged  to  pause  ;  for  pride,  anger,  regret  that 
she  was  indebted  for  anything  to  this  proud,  stern  man 
were  cvermasterino;  her. 


A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

He  also  arose. 

Her  spirited  face  and  manner  disgusted  him ;  he  fan 
cied  that  she  lacked  all  gratitude,  indeed,  all  heart,  and 
that  she  was  incapable  of  the  very  candor  which  he  con 
sidered  his  due. 

"  You  are  old  enough,  Miss  Edgar,  to  decide  for  your 
self  in  this  matter.  To  a  young  lady  who  has  undertaken 
such  a  step  as  this  letter  indicates,  without  consulting  me, 
neither  my  approval  nor  my  consent  are  necessary." 

She  was  stunned  ;  in  her  natural  simplicity  and  im 
pulsiveness,  she  had  never  thought  of  acquainting  Mr. 
Edgar  with  her  intention  to  write  to  Mrs.  Mowbray  ;  as 
he  was  not  her  relative,  and  that  she  was  merely  a  de 
pendent,  it  did  not  seem  to  be  any  part  of  her  duty. 

She  answered,  as  soon  as  she  recovered  her  voice : 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  in  writing  to  Mrs.  Mowbray  be 
fore  I  acquainted  you  I  was  wanting  in  any  regard  for 
you.  If  such  has  been  the  case,  I  am  very  sorry." 

It  was  her  old  fashion  of  asking  pardon  for  a  fault  in 
almost  the  same  breath  with  her  temper ;  but  Mr.  Edgar 
was  not  to  be  appeased.  He  looked  upon  her  now  as 
somewhat  of  an  actress,  and  he  was  really  anxious  to  have 
her  influence  removed  from  the  house. 

He  answered  with  an  unmistakable  decision :  "  I 
wish  to  say  no  more  upon  the  subject,  and  whenever  you 
decide  to  leave  your  present  home,  I  shall  see  that  you 
are  provided  for  your  journey." 

He  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  pass  out,  bowing  as 
she  did  so.  Then  he  sent  for  his  daughter. 

Miss  Edgar  obeyed  the  summons  in  some  trepidation, 
having  learned  that  Ned  had  just  come  from  a  private 
conversation  with  her  father,  and  not  knowing  but  thai- 
con  versation  might  have  had  some  reference  to  herself. 
Still,  she  felt  assured  that  Ned  knew  nothing,  and  she 
congratulated  herself  on  the  forethought  with  which  she 
had  instructed  her  lover  always  to  call  her  Ned  Edgar. 
She  had  carefully  forborne  to  tell  him  at  the  same  time 
that  she  was  usurping  the  name  of  her  companion,  for 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  61 

every  hireling  in  Weewald  Place  termed  our  heroine  by 
the  masculine  diminutive  ;  and  though  Mr.  Edgar  never 
used  it,  he  at  no  time,  after  discovering  his  daughter's 
preference  for  it,  disclaimed  against  it. 

Knowing  all  this,  Edna  smiled  as  she  saw  the  plant 
borne  to  her  cousin's  room. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Edgar,  leading  his  daughter 
fondly  to  a  seat,  "I  want  you  to  answer  very  frankly 
some  questions  I  am  about  to  ask." 

Her  heart  beat  wildly ;  had  he,  despite  her  efforts  at 
secrecy,  heard  anything  about  herself  and  Dick  ? 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  Miss  Edna's  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Mackay's  son  ?  Has  she  made  you  her  con 
fidant  ? " 

She  breathed  freer. 

"  No,  papa,"  opening  her  beautiful  eyes  very  wide. 

"  She  must  have  permitted  him  to  make  her  acquain 
tance,  for  he  has  been  bold  enough  to  send  her  a  hand 
some  floral  gift  to-day.  She  has  also  acquainted  me  with 
her  intention  of  engaging  as  companion  to  a  lady  in 
C .  Has  she  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  you  ?  " 

Miss  Edgar  breathed  very  freely  ;  she  could  truthfully 
answer,  "  no,  papa,"  to  his  last  question ;  but  she  was 
careful  not  to  add  that  it  was  her  own  coldness  which 
repelled  every  confidence  on  the  part  of  her  cousin. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  evident  that  Miss  Edna  is  not  a 
companion  for  you  ;  I  am  very  glad  that  she  has  not 
given  you  her  confidence  ;  there  might  have  been  con 
tamination  in  it.  She  is  enamored,  I  fancy,  of  this  gar 
dener's  son,  and  perhaps  wants  to  leave  us  in  order  to 
marry  him.  She  probably  feared  my  displeasure  too 
much  to  tell  me  ;  but  as  she  is  not  my  daughter,  her 
marriage  with  this  low  fellow  can  neither  hurt  nor  annoy 
me.  You,  my  love,  will  never  disgrace  your  father  by 
an  unequal  marriage." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

Ned  was  too  proud  to  yield  to  tears  ;  but  the  quivering 


62  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE3. 

of  her  lip,  the  heaving  of  her  breast,  and  the  moisture 
which  came  into  her  eyes  despite  herself,  when  she  was 
alone,  told  how  much  she  suffered. 

She  wrote  at  once  to  Mrs.  Mowbray,  assuring  her  of 
Mr.  Edgar's  consent,  and  urging  her  to  complete  all 

arrangements  with  the  lady  in  C ,  that  she  might 

enter  at  once  upon  her  new  position.  She  did  not  write 
to  Dyke,  fearing  to  give  the  honest  fellow  increased  anx 
iety,  and  feeling  that  she  could  write  to  him  with  better 
heart  when  she  should  have  become  accustomed  to  her 
new  home. 

Such  arrangements  as  Mrs.  Mowbray  could  make  were 
speedily  completed,  and  Mrs.  Doloran,  the  wealthy  and 

eccentric  widow  of  C ,  wrote  to  Miss  Edna  Edgar 

that  she  was  quite  ready  to  receive  her. 

Her  departure  was  marked  by  nothing  save  the  moth 
erly  solicitude  of  Mrs.  Stafford ;  that  lady  would  be 
assured  that  Ned  was  amply  provided  for  her  journey, 
and  when  the  girl  protested  at  so  much  preparation,  she 
insisted  that  she  must  obey  Mr.  Edgar's  orders,  at  which 
Ned  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent. 

XVII. 

Mrs.  Doloran's  eccentricities  took  most  extravagant 
turns,  not  alone  in  the  matter  of  dress,  which  made  her 
secretly  a  constant  subject  of  ridicule,  but  in  the  friend 
ships  she  formed  and  in  the  disposition  of  her  vast 
wealth.  Her  ample  house  was  always  open  to  ev3ry  one 
whom  she  chose  to  honor  with  her  acquaintance,  and  were 
it  not  for  the  prudent  care  exercised  over  her  by  a  nephew 
to  whom  she  was  very  much  attached,  she  might  often  be 
the  prey  of  those  who  were  most  benefited  by  her  lavish 
kindness.  She  insisted  on  having  about  her  for  weeks  at 
a  time  any  one  who  pleased  her  fancy,  or  contributed  to 
her  amusement  by  the  gift  of  story -telling,  no  matter  how 
brief  might  have  been  her  acquaintance  with  the  person, 
or  how  contrary  to  the  rules  of  propriety  might  be  her 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  63 

favor  to  him,  and  in  this  way  she  often  tried  sorely  her 
elegant,  reserved  nephew.  Nothing  but  his  affection  for 
this  strange  woman — his  dead  mother's  only  sister — and  his 
firm  conviction  that,  left  to  herself,  she  would  become  the 
speedy  prey  of  dishonest  persons,  retained  him  with  her. 
He  had  an  ample  fortune  in  his  own  right  so  that  he  had 
110  need  of  his  aunt's  wealth,  though  gossiping  tongues 
attributed  all  his  devoted  attentions  to  the  fact  that  he 
expected  to  become  her  heir. 

Ned's  arrival  was  too  late  for  her  introduction  to  Mrs. 
Doloraii  or  even  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  nephew,  Mr.  Carnew, 
and  after  refreshments  had  been  provided  for  her,  she  was 
shown  to  her  room.  The  apartment  was  pretty  and  home 
like  enough  to  invite  to  rest  one  even  less  wearied,  but  she 
was  too  full  of  sad  emotions  to  slumber.  Again  and  again 
she  enacted  her  parting  with  Mr.  Edgar ;  he  had  given 
her  his  hand,,  and  told  her  to  apply  to  him  when  she 
should  be  in  any  need,  but  the  manner  of  his  speech  had 
seemed  to  freeze  her  very  soul,  and  it  renewed  her 
determination  to  endure  the  most  abject  want  in  prefer 
ence  to  any  future  aid  from  him.  Miss  Edgar,  in  the 
moment  of  parting,  had  resumed  the  affectionate  manner 
with  which  she  had  treated  Ned  when  they  first  came  to 
Weewald  Place.  Her  affection  was  resumed,  not  because 
it  had  returned  (it  could  scarcely  return,  for,  correctly 
speaking,  her  nature  was  incapable  of  feeling  any  affection 
save  for  those  who  ministered  to  her  own  selfish  wants), 
and  not  because  she  experienced  any  sudden  pity  for  her 
orphan  companion  going  forth  to  earn  her  living,  but  be 
cause  she  was  delighted  at  Ned's  departure ;  and,  as  usual, 
anything  that  made  her  happy  made  her  good-natured. 
She  knew  not  what  spy-like  qualities  her  cousin  possessed, 
nor  what  unhappy  discovery  she  might  make,  if  she  con 
tinued  to  live  beneath  the  same  roof ;  so,  under  the 
influence  of  joy  that  there  was  removed  at  least  one 
person  who  she  felt  would  denounce  her  secret  attach 
ment  did  she  know  it,  she  had  thrown  her  arms  about 
Ned's  neck,  arid  kissed  her  warmly  enough.  And  sensi- 


64:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tive,  loving,  forgiving  Ned,  touched  by  even  that  late 
mark  of  affection,  had  thawed  under  it,  and  forgiven  and 
forgotten  all  the  coldness  that  had  gone  before  it. 

"  Write  to  me,"  Miss  Edgar  had  whispered,  with  her 
cheek,  to  all  appearance,  pressed  fondly  enough  against 
that  of  her  cousin,  "  write  to  me  frequently ; "  and  Ned 
had  promised  to  do  so,  as  well  as  she  was  able  for  the 
gulp  in  her  throat. 

These  were  the  memories  which  banished  sleep,  and 
which  made  it,  when  it  did  come,  so  brief  that  she  awoke 
with  the  dawn.  She  dressed  herself,  and  waited  for  the 
November  day  to  be  fully  ushered  in  ;  and  when  the  sun 
light  broke  upon  everything  with  a  radiance  that  seemed 
to  belong  to  an  earlier  season,  she  threw  a  shawl  about  her 
and  descended. 

Early  as  the  hour  was  for  a  gay  country  house,  where 
breakfast  was  served  late,  some  one  had  evidently  gone  out 
before  her,  for  the  door  of  the  main  entrance  was  wide 
open.  The  air  was  somewhat  chilly,  but  bracing,  and 
under  its  invigorating  influence,  as  she  pulled  her  shawl 
about  her  and  hurried  on  with  elastic  step,  she  felt  her 
spirits  rise.  She  had  that  sweet,  ardent  youth  which  re 
quires  so  little  to  elate  or  depress  it,  and  as  she  passed 
through  walks,  the  beauty  of  which,  in  summer  time  must 
have  equalled  those  of  Weewald  Place,  and  looked  about 
her  at  the  vegetation  that,  not  yet  bare,  was  even  bright 
witli  the  colors  which  indicated  its  decay,  she  felt  her 
griefs  grow  lighter  and  lighter.  Independence  was  before 
her,  and  it  only  needed  a  patient,  enduring  will  on  her 
part  to  achieve  it. 

Suddenly  she  came  to  a  hedge  of  evergreen  higher 
than  herself ;  looking  through  the  interstices,  which  in 
some  places  were  large  enough  to  admit  of  the  passage 
of  a  hand,  she  saw  a  broad  and  well-kept  gravelled  walk. 
Wondering  whether  it  led  directly  to  the  house,  and  how 
she  could  get  upon  it  from  her  present  position,  she  was 
further  attracted  by  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps 
on  the  gravel. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  65 

In  a  moment  there  came  into  sight  a  very  tall,  stout 
woman,  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by  a  tall,  thin, 
awkward-looking  man  carrying  a  cup  and  saucer.  The 
woman  was  dressed  in  a  flowing  robe  of  the  brightest 
yellow  silk,  that  trailed  on  the  walk  behind  her  like  some 
gay  plumage,  a  shawl  of  light  green  of  the  same  material 
thrown  scarf  wise  over  her  shoulders,  and  a  red  lace  veil 
depending  from  her  hair.  Her  hands  were  bare,  but 
beautifully  white  and  covered  with  sparkling  rings,  and 
her  countenance,  when  she  came  into  full  view  of  the 
astonished  and  amused  Ned,  was  that  of  a  very  handsome 
woman  about  fifty  years  of  age.  Her  form  was  straight 
to  stiffness,  and  she  made  it  more  painfully  so,  by  holding 
her  shoulders  rigidly  back  and  keeping  her  head  at  the 
highest  possible  elevation.  She  took  such  long  heavy 
steps,  that  her  gait  was  more  like  a  manly  stride,  and  it 
taxed  her  awkward-looking  attendant  to  maintain  the 
precise  distance  which  she  evidently  required,  for  she 
turned  once,  and  said  sharply  : 

"  You're  too  far,  Donald ;  too  far  by  two  paces." 
Donald  exerted  himself  to  make  up  the  two  paces,  and 
the  lady,  satisfied,  resumed  her  walk ;  but  she  had  only 
taken  a  stride  or  two,  when  she  stopped  again,  and  de 
manded  Donald  to  bring  to  her  the  cup  he  held. 

He  obeyed,  but  with  the  air  of  one  most  dissatisfied 
with  his  work,  and  she,  having  sipped  from  the  cup  ex 
tended  it  for  him  to  take.  Instead  of  doing  so,  he  dashed 
it  from  her  hand,  breaking  the  vessel,  and  sending  abroad 
a  very  appetizing  odor  of  coffee. 

"  I'll  noo  be  your  lap-dog  any  longer,  wi'  your  £  Donald 
keep  two  paces  farther,  and  Donald  keep  two  paces  nearer, 
and  Donald  hand  me  me  coffee,  and  Donald  carry  the  cup 
agen.'  It's  fine  wark  Donald  Macgilivray'scome  to  when 
he's  after  a  leddy's  beck  and  call  like  a  cur  that's  afeered 
o'  a  beatin.  You'll  just  get  some  other  dog  to  do  your 
biddinV 

He  was  standing  as  erect  as  was  the  astonished  lady  to 
whom  he  delivered  this  unexpected  tirade,  with  his  arms 


66  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

folded,  and  his  stubble-indented  Scotcli  face  set  in  sullen 
wrath. 

The  lady  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  at  that  moment 
an  elderly  and  somewhat  strange-looking  gentleman  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene.  He  was  strange-looking,  botJi 
because  of  his  deeply  bronzed  and  parchment  like  face 
and  his  odd  dress,  pantaloons  like  a  sailor's  and  a  short 
cloak  slung  over  one  shoulder.  With  an  air  of  protecting 
freedom  he  advanced  to  the  lady's  side. 

"  I  heard  Donald's  voice,  and  I  heard  you  laugh,"  he 
said  in  such  deep,  clear  and  pleasant  tones,  that  they 
seemed  out  of  harmony  with  his  appearance.  "  What  is 
the  matter  ? " 

"  The  matter  ? "  Why  that  fool  of  a  Scotchman  objects 
to  being  my  dog  any  longer.  He'd  rather  be  an  ill-treated 
slave  than  a  well-fed  cur."  And  she  laughed  again  ;  a 
laugh  so  loud,  so  hearty,  and  so  prolonged,  that  it  set 
peeping  Ned  to  laughing  also. 

But  the  Scotchman  was  not  disposed  to  take  any  mirth 
ful  view  of  the  occurrence ;  he  stood  looking  as  angry 
and  dogged  as  ever. 

The  lady  turned  her  mirthful  face  to  him,  and  said,  as 
soon  as  she  recovered  her  voice  : 

"  I  don't  much  blame  yon,  Donald,  and  tell  Cawson 
when  you  get  to  the  house  to  find  a  place  for  you  some 
where,  at  whatever  work  you  choose  to  do." 

The  Scotchman's  face  changed  instantly :  he  had  ex 
pected  to  be  summarily  discharged,  and  instead  he  was 
promoted. 

"  O  me  leddy,"  he  said,  looking  as  if  he  was  ready  to 
fall  on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  "  you  are  too  good,  and — 

She  waived  him  away,  and  taking  the  arm  of  the  elderly 
gentleman  was  turning  to  pursue  her  course,  when  she 
caught  sight  of  Ned  through  the  interstices  of  the  hedge. 
Ned  had  been  so  interested  and  amused,  that  she  did  not 
once  think  of  changing  her  position. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  the  lady,  dropping  in  her 
astonishment  the  arm  on  which  she  leaned. 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  67 

"What  are  you?"  she  continued,  as  Ned,  violently 
blushing,  started  back  ;  and  too  impatient  to  wait  for  an 
answer,  she  continued  to  her  companion : 

"  Take  one  of  your  flying  leaps,  Mascar,  and  let  me 
know  all  about  it." 

The  gentleman  obeyed,  retreating  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  road,  and  there  collecting  such  force  and  energy 
for  his  spring  that  it  brought  him  flying  over  the  top  of 
the  hedge  and  placed  him  almost  at  the  feet  of  the  as 
tounded  girl.  She  was  frightened  enough  to  scream, 
and  only  restrained  herself  by  a  great  effort. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said  in  that  strangely  pleasant 
voice.  "  My  flight  to  you  has  only  been  for  a  very  harm- 
Jess  purpose.  Since  you  are  on  these  grounds  you  must 
be  acquainted  with  some  one  in  Mrs.  Doloran's  house. 
It  is  she  who  has  commissioned  me  to  get  your  name." 

"  I  am  the  person  whom  Mrs.  Doloran  expects  to  re 
ceive  as  a  companion ;  my  name  is  Edna  Edgar,"  was  the 
trembling  reply. 

"Edgar,"  said  the  gentleman  with  a  sudden  and 
strange  excitement  in  his  manner.  "Did  you  say 
fflgar?" 

"  Yes  ;  "  she  answered ;  but  there  was  no  further  op 
portunity  for  him  to  question,  for  Mrs.  Doloran  was 
screaming  from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge : 

"  Bring  it  over  here,  Mascar ;  I  want  to  know  all  about 
it." 

He  laughed  as  heartily  as  Mrs.  Doloran  herself  had 
laughed  a  short  time  before,  and  said  with  a  merry  twinkle 
of  his  sharp,  black  eyes  at  Ned  : 

"ft  is  a  young  lady  who  doesn't  know  how  to  leap  over 
hedges ;  it  will  go  back  to  the  end  of  this  path  and  meet 
us  where  the  path  converges  to  the  road,"  indicating  with 
his  hand  as  he  spoke  the  direction  Ned  was  to  take,  and 
then  he  prepared  himself  for  another  flying  leap  back  to 
his  impatient  companion. 

Ned  pursued  the  course  indicated,  her  mind  very  much 
divided  between  anxiety  lest  she  should  not  please  this 


68  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

exceedingly  eccentric  lady,  amusement  at  the  oddities  she 
had  already  witnessed,  and  astonishment  at  the  surprise 
which  the  mention  of  her  name  had  occasioned  in  the 
strange  gentleman.  Lost  in  the  maze  of  her  thoughts 
she  reached  the  end  of  the  walk  before  she  was  aware  of 
it,  and  saw  approaching  her  the  strange  couple. 

"  Miss  Edgar,  the  young  lady  who  has  come  to  be  your 
companion,  Mrs.  Doloran,"  said  the  gentleman,  gracefully 
relinquishing  the  arm  that  leaned  upon  his,  and  bowing 
low  to  both  ladies. 

"  Umpli ! "  said  Mrs.  Doloran,  holding  her  head  at  a 
greater  elevation,  while  she  inspected  this  new  addition 
to  her  household. 

"And  what's  your  Christian  name?"  when  she  had 
finished  her  survey. 

"Edna!" 

"  Faugh  1  it's  like  most  women's  names,  good  for  nei 
ther  sense  nor  sound. 

"  I  used  to  be  called  Ned,"  ventured  our  heroine,  anx 
ious  at  any  hazard  to  win  the  favor  of  this  woman,  with 
out  which  she  might  be  returned  to  Weewald  Place. 

"  Ned,  eh  !  well  that  was  sensible  ;  nothing  like  mascu 
linity  in  some  shape  for  raising  a  woman  to  dignity  ;  eh, 
Mascar  ? " 

Mascar  assented  by  a  bow  to  the  speaker,  but  a  look 
at  Ned  expressive  of  his  secret  mirth. 

The  lady  continued : 

"  Women  are  such  emotional  creatures,  running  after 
their  fancies  one  moment  and  running  away  from  them 
the  next,  adoring  the  men  in  one  breath,  and  vilifying 
them  in  the  second,  that  they  have  become  the  fools  of  the 
world ;  but  you  are  young  yet  and  may  be  educated  to 
better  things.  How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  Almost  nineteen." 

"  Umpli !  not  so  young  as  you  look — have  you  any  fol 
lowers  ?  Are  you  in  love  ? " 

The  young  lady  blushed  violently  as  she  answered  in 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  69 

the  negative,  and  the  gentleman's  face  was  contorted  with 
suppressed  mirth. 

They  were  within  sight  of  the  broad  porch  of  the 
house,  and  Ned  in  her  embarrassment,  turning  unconsci 
ously  to  look  in  that  direction,  saw  a  gentleman  descend 
the  steps  and  come  toward  them.  Mrs.  Doloran,  follow 
ing  the  course  of  Hiss  Edgar's  eyes,  also  observed  him, 
and  said  eagerly  : 

"  There's"  Alan !  " 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Ned  in  the  watch  she 
maintained  on  the  approaching  person ;  indeed,  she  ap 
peared  to  be  secretly  admiring  the  easy  grace  and  manly 
swing  of  his  gait ;  as  he  came  nearer,  even  Ned  was  struck 
with  the  clear,  eagle-like  look  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  the 
firm,  yet  kind  expression  about  his  mouth,  the  upper  lip  of 
which  was  covered  by  a  thick,  black  moustache. 

Waiving  all  forms,  Mrs.  Doloran  grasped  Ned's  arm 
and  pulled  her  forward  with  a  jerk,  holding  her  as  if  in 
a  vise,  while  she  said  : 

u  This  is  Ned  Edgar,  Alan,  the  companion  you  made 
me  engage.  She  isn't  nineteen  yet,  and  pretty  enough  to 
have  you  noticing  her,  and  she  making  a  fool  of  herself 
by  falling  in  love  with  a  man  who  wouldn't  marry  her  if 
he  could.  She  says — — ' 

At  which  point  of  her  unnecessary  speech,  an  angry 
flash  from  Alan's  eyes  stopped  her ;  it  was  evident,  that, 
if  to  no  one  else,  at  least  i/i  some  things  she  succumbed 
to  the  will  of  this  young,  slender,  but  hrm-faced  individ 
ual. 

He  said  quietly,  but  in  a  voice  that  was  deep,  and  like 
his  face,  iirm : 

"  Now  that  you  have  so  summarily  introduced  the 
young  lady,  be  good  enough  to  introduce  me." 

Mrs.  Doloran  broke  into  one  of  her  hearty  laughs ;  so 
hearty,  so  prolonged,  and  so  funny  that  it  was  irresistible  ; 
Mascar  joined  in  it,  while  the  gentleman,  called  Alan,  bit 
his  lip  in  a  fruitless  endeavor  to  maintain  his  own  gravity, 
and  Ned  laughed  also  in  spite  of  herself. 


70  A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

Mrs.  Doloran  only  stopped  when  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes,  and  then,  placing  her  arms  akimbo — a  fashion 
which  she  severely  deprecated  in  every  other  female,  but 
leniently  tolerated  in  herself — she  said : 

"  Alan's  my  nephew — Alan  Carnew — he  is  a  good  fel 
low  enough  when  his  will  is  not  opposed,  and  a  pretty  bad 
one  when  anybody  attempts  to  drive  him.  He  likes  wo 
men  when  they're  women,  because  he  hasn't  sense  enough 
to  see  that  women  were  only  made  after  all  the  brains 
had  been  given  to  men,  and  he  won't  know  what  the 
world  is  till  he  gets  a  wife  that  will  fool  him  to  the  top 
of  his  bent.  Now,  I'm  going  into  breakfast  and  to  see 
what  Cawson's  done  for  that  poor  fool,  Donald ;  I'm  go 
ing  in  with  Mascar,  here,"  taking  that  gentleman's  arm, 
"  and  you,  Ned,  can  follow  with  Alan.  Use  your  oppor 
tunity,  for  you  won't  have  many  of  them,  as  I  don't  in 
tend  to  allow  you  and  him  to  be  much  together." 

"  A  wholesome  introduction,  upon  my  faith,"  exclaimed 
the  gentleman,  called  Mascar,  laughing  as  he  received 
the  arm  extended  to  him,  and  turned  to  accompany  its 
owner ;  but  young  Carnew  was  flushed  with  anger ;  he 
did  not  answer,  however,  and  after  a  moment,  during 
which  it  might  be  he  held  some  wrathful  struggle  with 
himself,  he  turned  to  Ned,  saying,  with  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  change  his  whole  countenance  and  make  him 
very  handsome  : 

"  Obedience,  in  this  instance,  seems  to  be  the  only 
course  for  us.  So  we  shall  follow  my  eccentric  aunt." 

She  smiled  in  reply,  and  he  continued  as  they  walked  : 

"  I  have  read  Mrs.  Mowbray's  correspondence  to  my 
aunt  concerning  you,  so  that  I  know  whence  you  come, 
but  she  did  not  say  what  relation  you  were  to  this  Mr. 
Edgar  of  Barrytown." 

"  I  am  no  relation,"  was  the  answer. 

"  That  is  a  little  singular,  since  you  bear  his  name  and 
he  has  taken  such  an  interest  in  you  ;  but  fate  sometimes 
provides  for  us  strange  coincidences  " — he  sighed  faintly, 
as  if  he  was  oppressed  by  the  memory  of  some  gloomy 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  71 

coincidence  in  his  owTn  life — "  and,"  he  continued,  "  it  is 
rather  unusual  for  a  young  lady  like  you  to  give  up  vol 
untarily  a  home  such  as  Mr.  Edgar  provided  in  order  to 
eat  the  bread  of  strangers." 

"  But  it  will  be  earned  bread,"  she  could  not  refrain 
from  answering. 

"  Why  ?  Have  you  found  it  so  hard  to  eat  bread  that  is 
bestowed  ?  "  And  then,  as  if  he  was  anxious  to  leave  the 
topic  he  himself  had  introduced,  he  did  not  wait  for  her 
answer,  but  continued  : 

"  Your  duties  here  will  be  light,  but  they  will  be  most 
trying  ;  my  aunt's  whims  sometimes  change  every  hour, 
and  I  fear  she  will  make  you  the  puppet  of  them  ;  how 
ever,  when  her  yoke  presses  too  hard,  you  can  return  to 
your  recent  home." 

They  were  now  on  the  porch  itself,  and  he  was  ready 
to  pass  her  gracefully  into  the  house,  little  dreaming  how 
his  last  words  had  evoked  within  her  a  stern  determina 
tion  to  submit  to  the  most  extravagant  of  Mrs.  Doloran's 
whims  rather  than  return  to  Weewald  Place. 

XYIII. 

Ned's  duties,  as  Mrs.  Doloran's  companion,  were  ex 
ceedingly  trying ;  but  there  was  so  much  amusement  in 
the  lady's  various  oddities  that  often  our  heroine's  tears, 
on  the  point  of  secretly  flowing,  were  checked  by  the  re 
membrance  of  the  laughable  whim  which  had  given  rise 
to  the  awkward  or  unpleasant  duty. 

Mrs.  Doloran's  house,  which  she  insisted  upon  calling 
Rahandabed,  after  the  hero  of  some  wild  East  Indian 
story  told  to  her  by  the  gentleman  she  had  called  Mascar, 
was  constantly  full  of  guests,  among  which,  in  spite  of  her 
frequently  avowed  contempt  for  the  sex,  it  was  fairly  rep 
resented.  The  guests  were  mostly  New  York  people, 
Mrs.  Doloran's  residence  having  been  there  until  the 
death  of  her  husband  left  her  free  to  follow  the  caprices 
which  were  the  bane  of  her  unfortunate  consort's  life, 


1T2  A   FATAL  KESEMBLANCE. 

and  that  made  him  liardly  sorry  when  his  demise  came, 
since  it  was  his  only  chance  of  release  from  so  odd  and 
exacting  a  companion.  Their  union  had  been  childless, 
and  that  perhaps  was  an  extenuating  cause  for  her  fre 
quent  sudden  and  amusing  infatuation  for  chance  ac 
quaintances.  Alan  Carnew,  an  orphan  at  an  early  age, 
when  not  at  college  or  travelling,  made  his  home  with  the 
Dolorans,  taking  his  aunt  abroad  on  the  death  of  aier  hus 
band,  and  fondly  hoping  that  on  their  return  some  change 
would  be  effected  in  her  eccentric  ways.  He  was  doomed 
to  disappointment :  foreign  scenes  but  imbued  her  with  a 
deeper  love  for  the  grotesque  in  dress  and  the  singular  in 
forming  friendships.  She  returned  with  her  trunk  full 
of  the  brigl it  hues  of  nearly  every  foreign  loom,  and  ac 
companied  by  a  gentleman  whose  acquaintance  she  had 
insisted  on  making. 

Her  strange  fancy  was  caught  first  by  his  odd  and 
striking  dress,  as  he  stood  in  an  outer  room  of  one  of  the 
Italian  palaces  that  Alan  had  brought  her  to  see,  and  next 
by  his  conversation  with  a  companion;  it  was  in  English, 
and  was  a  spirited  account  of  some  exciting  adventure  in 
India.  Had  not  Alan  restrained  her,  she  would  have  gone 
up  to  him  and  asked  him  to  repeat  his  narrative  ;  as  it 
was,  she  gave  her  nephew  no  rest  until  he  learned  that 
the  stranger  was  an  unmarried  English  gentleman,  who 
had  resided  for  some  years  in  India,  which  country  he  had 
left  to  return  to  England  in  order  to  receive  a  fortune 
bequeathed  to  him,  and  that  he  was  now  about  to  make  a 
tour  of  the  world  for  pleasure. 

"  Then  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  inducing  him  to 
come  to  America  with  us,"  said  the  impetuous  lady. 

"  Aunt  Doloran,  are  you  crazy  ? "  replied  her  astonished 
and  indignant  nephew. 

"No,  my  exemplary  Alan,  but  very  much  in  love  with 
a  project  of  my  own  which  could  never  be  complete 
without  this  delightful  Indian  gentleman.  I  intend,  when 
I  return,  to  transfer  my  residence  from  New  York  to 
some  pretty  spot  along  the  Hudson,  and  summer  and 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  3 

winter  my  friends  shall  have  a  carnival.  This  gentleman, 
with  his  exquisitely  horrid  stories  of  all  that  he  has  seen 
and  heard  in  the  Indian  jungles  will  be  just  the  thing. 
Maybe  he'll  consent  to  become  my  steward,  or  head  man 
in  some  way." 

Alan,  horrified,  could  only  gaze  at  her.  But,  as  every  wo 
man  does,  she  carried  her  way,  and  the  Indian  gentleman, 
though  he  was  not  asked  to  become  her  steward,  did  actu 
ally  accompany  herself  and  her  nephew  to  America.  The 
latter,  in  spite  of  ail  his  protests  and  entreaties  to  his  aunt 
to  have  some  regard  for  propriety,  was  obliged  to  manage 
the  introduction  ;  and  Mr.  Mascar  Ordotte  (his  very  name 
being  such  an  odd  one  was  in  his  favor  with  Mrs.  Doloran) 
was  in  no  wise  loth  to  attach  himself  to  the  train  of  a 
woman  who,  from  the  moment  of  his  acquaintance  with 
her,  afforded  him  infinite  amusement.  He  accepted  very 
readily  her  invitation  to  accompany  her  to  New  York, 
and  once  there,  required  little  persuasion  to  prolong  his 
visit  until  they  should  be  settled  in  their  country  home. 

To  Alan,  this  new  acquaintance  was  most  undesirable, 
even  though  occasionally  there  was  a  fascination  about 
Ordotte's  manner  and  conversation  that  he  found  hard  to 
resist,  but  as  his  aunt  was  neither  to  be  moved  by  entrea 
ties,  nor  by  threats  to  deprive  her  of  his  own  companion 
ship,  and  as  he  feared  that  his  departure  might  give  rein 
to  some  unpleasant  gossip  from  those  who  were  unac 
quainted  with  the  guilelessness  of  her  motives,  and  as  he 
hoped  for  a  termination  of  Ordotte's  visit,  he  tolerated 
all,  and  treated  the  visitor  with  a  rather  cold,  but  marked 
politeness. 

Nor  did  the  grave,  handsome,  and  scholarly  nephew 
mingle  as  much  as  might  be  expected  from  his  youth,  be 
ing  hardly  twenty- six,  with  his  aunt's  guests;  he  joined 
their  pastimes  occasionally,  but  it  was  a  well-known  fact 
that  he  preferred  his  solitary  rides  across  the  country,  and 
his  books,  to  all  their  sports,  and  many  a  feminine  heart, 
grew  sick  with  disappointment  that  no  charm  of  beauty 


74:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

seemed  potent  enough  to  win  the  heart  of  this  handsome 
heir  of  "Rahandabed." 

Ned,  of  course,  was  thrown  much  with  the  company, 
being  in  constant  attendance  upon  Mrs.  Doloran  ;  but  she 
was  so  shy  and  reserved  that  she  attracted  little  attention 
save  when  some  absurd  request  made  to  her  by  the  widow 
drew  every  eye  upon  her. 

She  was  a  month  in  her  new  home,  and  during  that 
time  she  had  heard  once  from  Dyke,  his  letter  being  sent 
to  her  from  Weewald  Place.  She  had  answered,  inform 
ing  him  of  the  change  she  had  made  ;  but  she  had  done 
it  in  such  a  manner  that,  unless  of  his  own  intuition,  lie 
could  never  divine  the  unhappy  feelings  which  had 
prompted  her.  And  she  had  also  written  to  Miss  Edgar, 
according  to  her  promise,  a  brief,  but  friendly  note,  and 
received  in  reply  from  that  young  lady  quite  a  gushing 
epistle,  detailing  how  Mr.  Edgar  had  decided  to  throw 
open  his  house  to  company  that  winter,  and  previous  to 
doing  so,  intended  to  take  his  daughter  for  a  brief  visit  to 
New  York. 

December's  chilly  blasts  had  set  in,  and  the  evenings 
found  the  gay  company  in  the  spacious  winter  parlor — to 
which  blazing  grate  lires  at  opposite  ends  of  the  room, 
and  crimson  moire  curtains,  imparted  an  air  of  delightful 
comfort — deep  in  the  amusement  of  charades,  or  tableaux, 
or  laughable  puzzles  that  taxed  alike  mental  and  mirthful 
faculties.  Mrs.  Doloran  was  the  queen  of  the  assemblies, 
and  with  her  grotesque  and  startling  dress,  to  which  her 
unusual  height  imparted  greater  oddity,  she  presented  a 
most  novel  sight.  Her  jewels  she  wore  upon  all  occasions, 
varying  them  only  as  to  kind,  and  insisted  upon 
adorning  her  hair  witli  either  lace  or  silken  drapery. 
Her  dress,  ample  enough  in  the  skirt  to  have  clothed  two 
ordinary  women,  trailed  far  behind  her.  and  was  always 
of  some  hue  of  the  rainbow. 

Poor  Ned  was  obliged  to  be  constantly  in  the  shadow 
of  this  great,  ill-dressed  woman,  and  she  never  knew  what 
moment  would  call  forth  such  requests  as : 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  75 

"  Sing  me  a  lullaby,  Ned  ;  I  want  to  forget  that  I  am  a 
woman,  and  go  back  to  my  cradle  days ; "  or,  "tell  me 
about  that  delightful  story  you  were  reading  yesterday, 
where  the  namby-pamby  heroine  fell  into  a  pond  and  was 
mistaken  for  a  fish  by  the  fishermen,  and  for  a  goose  by 
her  fool  of  a  lover." 

And  Ned  was  obliged  to  obey,  while  her  face  burned 
with  blushes,  and  her  voice  was  painfully  tremulous,  for 
Mrs.  Doloran's  whims  were  as  likely  to  want  gratification 
in  the  presence  of  the  whole  assembled  company  as  when 
she  was  alone  with  her  young  companion.  One  evening, 
the  lady's  fancy  settled  upon  Ordotte,  rather  than  upon 
Ned.  Calling  him  from  the  group  with  whom  he  had 
been  deciding  on  the  manner  in  which  some  game  should 
be  played,  she  said  in  the  loud  tones  she  always  used : 

"  Give  the  company  that  story,  Mascar,  that  you  said 
Ned's  face  here  put  you  in  mind  of." 

The  allusion  to  Ned's  face  brought  every  eye  upon  the 
young  girl,  even  the  piercing  look  of  Alan  Carnew,  who 
happened  to  make  one  of  the  party  that  evening,  and  she 
dropped  her  eyes  beneath  the  battery  of  glances,  and 
blushed  until  she  thought  she  must  suffocate  under  the 
sudden  rush  of  blood. 

Young  Carnew  pitied  her ;  her  modesty  charmed  him, 
while  the  quiet,  uncomplaining  way  with  which  she  at 
tempted  to  do  the  absurd  things  so  often  required  of  her 
appealed  to  his  heart,  and  frequently  made  him  strongly 
inclined  to  interfere  in  her  behalf ;  feeling,  however,  how 
futile  would  be  his  efforts  in  such  a  cause,  and  interested 
in  watching  the  struggle  that  he  saw  it  cost  her  to  dis 
charge  such  repugnant  duties,  he  remained  aloof,  never 
seeming  to  take  further  notice  of  her  than  courtesy 
required. 

Neither  had  Ordotte  noticed  her  particularly  since  the 
morning  on  which  he  had  showed  such  surprise  at  the 
mention  of  her  name.  Now,  however,  when  he  was  thus 
loudly  and  impetuously  appealed  to,  he  left  the  group  to 
which  he  had  been  talking,  and,  approaching  Ned,  said. 


76  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

with  the  air  of  one  who  was  stirred  to  mention  deeper 
things  than  might  be  prudent : 

" Miss  Edgar's  face  reminded  me  of  a  mystery — an 
Indian  mystery — that  is  all." 

"  All  ? "  vociferated  Mrs.  Doloran,  "  why,  we  want  the 
mystery,  the  whole  mystery;  how  delightful  that  it 
occurred  in  India.  Who  knows  but  that  Ned  here,  with 
her  Indian  hair  and  eyes,  will  be  the  solving  of  it." 

A  strange  look  passed  over  Ordotte's  face,  a  look  at 
once  sad  and  iierce,  and  catching  it  for  the  instant  that  her 
eyes  lifted,  Ned  involuntarily  shuddered. 

"  The  mystery,"  answered  Ordette,  "  has  the  same 
elements  as  other  mysteries — a  woman's  face,  a  wayward 
life,  and  a  burning  wrong.  Nothing  more,  I  assure  you." 

He  dropped  his  hands,  and  turned  smiling  to  Mrs. 
Doloran. 

She  would  have  the  details. 

"  A^eave  your  elements  into  a  narrative,"  she  demanded, 
"  don't  leave  us  to  imagine  that  Ned  is  really  the  woman 
of  the  mystery." 

In  her  eagerness  she  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  stood 
with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  Ned's  chair. 

Ordotte  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed  ;  one  of 
the  laughs  that  were  so  good  an  imitation  of  Mrs.  Doloran's 
own  as  to  set  most  of  the  company  laughing,  despite  their 
extreme  curiosity  aroused  by  the  gentleman's  words. 

"My  mystery,"  he  resumed,  when  his  mirth  had  sub 
sided,  "  must  remain  such  even  to  me,  the  time  has  hardly 
come  for  its  revelation  ;  but  if,  by  the  singular  fact  of  Miss 
Edgar's  face  reminding  me  of  it,  there  can  be  won  for 
that  young  lady  the  regard  which  her  amiable  qualities 
deserve,  then  shall  my  mystery  have  its  just  revelation." 

To  one  person,  and  one  person  alone,  did  his  words 
convey  a  double  meaning,  and  that  person  was  Alan 
Carnew. 

Watching  the  tawny  face  of  the  speaker,  he  imagined 
that  he  had  read  in  its  expression,  not  alone  what  the 
words  had  conveyed  to  the  company,  that  the  amiable 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


77 


qualities  of  the  young  lady  deserved  different  treatment 
from  Mrs.  Doloran,  but  also  that  Ordotte  had  a  knowl 
edge  of  something  pertaining  to  Ned. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  however,  was  too  dull  of  comprehension 
to  assume  any  part  of  the  remarks  to  herself,  and  eager 
only  to  gratify  her  desire  of  hearing  an  account  of  the 
mystery,  she  persisted : 

"  This  is  frightful  of  you,  Mascar,  to  plunge  us  all  into 
such  doubt.  I  insist  that  you  tell  us  at  least  what  you 
know." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  entered  with  some  message, 
which  he  delivered  in  alow  voice  to  Mr.  Carnew,  who  im 
mediately  arose  and  crossed  to  Ned. 

"  There  is  a  gentleman  to  see  yon ;  he  is  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  begs  if  it  be  possible  that  you  will  see  him 
immediately." 

Mrs.  Doloran  also  heard  the  message  delivered  by  Alan, 
and  with  her  wonted  impetuous  drift  of  attention  from 
one  subject  to  another,  immediately  said : 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Ned  ?  I  thought  you  had  no 
followers,  no  lovers,  no  males  of  any  kind  in  your  wake." 

Ned  had  arisen,  and  between  embarrassment  at  the 
situation  in  which  she  found  herself,  and  shame  at  the 
loud  and  coarse  remarks  of  Mrs.  Doloran,  she  presented 
a  pitiable  but  most  interesting  picture.  Carnew's  man 
hood  came  to  her  rescue. 

"  Allow  me  to  escort  you  from  the  parlor,  Miss  Edgar," 
lie  said,  presenting  at  the  same  time  his  arm  with  an  ex 
quisite  grace.  She  gladly  took  it,  and  under  cover  of  his 
courtesy  made  her  exit. 

XIX. 

The  gentleman  who  wanted  to  see  Ned  was  Dyke — 
Dyke,  travel-worn  and  with  a  strangly  haggard  look  in 
his  honest  countenance.  Ned  almost  flew  into  his  arms, 
but  he  avoided  much  of  her  embrace,  without  exactly 
seeming  to  do  so.  Since  he  loved  her  so  passionately  he 


78  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

must  guard  every  avenue  by  which  that  love  might  escape 
and  show  itself  unbidden  to  her  unsuspecting  eyes  ;  so, 
did  he  suffer  the  warm  caress  which  in  her  sisterly  love 
for  him  she  would  have  given,  he  must  have  snatched  her 
to.  his  breast  and  told  how  day  and  night  she  had  been  the 
star,  that  guided  him.  And  the  time  had  not  come  for 
that,  for  he  had  not  yet  made  his  fortune,  nor  had  she  had 
the  opportunity  of  giving  her  heart  to  a  worthier  lover. 

He  held  her  at  arm's  length  on  the  pretence  of  noting 
the  changes  in  her,  and  she  laughed  and  cried  in  a  breath 
with  joy,  and  could  hardly  keep  still  in  her  desire  to  do 
something  for  him,  and  to  ask  him  so  many  questions  in 
the  same  moment. 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  until  summer,"  she  said  ; 
"  how  did  you  get  here,  and  at  such  a  time  of  the  night  ? 
But  you  must  stay  to  night ;  Mr.  Carnew  told  me  that  any 
friend  of  mine  should  be  treated  with  the  hospitality  ex 
tended  to  the  guests." 

Dyke  shook  his  head  : 

"  I  cannot  Ned,  for  I  must  travel  all  night  in  order  to 
catch  up  with  Mr.  Patten  ;  I  turned  out  of  my  way  to  see 
you,  because  I  could  not  rest  after  your  last  letter — I 
could  not  understand  why  you  had  left  Weewald  Place." 

"Was  not  I  plain  enough  ?"  she  said  laughingly,  and 
then  she  cunningly  endeavored  to  throw  him  off  the 
scent  of  her  true  motive  in  going  away,  but  he  was  not  to 
be  turned  from  the  clew  he  had  shrewdly  divined  on 
reading  her  letter. 

"  You  were  very  unhappy  at  Weewald  Place,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  with  that  peculiarly  searching  expression 
which  as  a  child  she  could  never  withstand  ;  and  it  had 
something  of  its  old  power  over  her  now,  for  she  dropped 
her  eyes  and  blushed.  "Tell  me,  Ned,"  he  said,  "tell 
me  frankly." 

But,  after  all  what  was  there  to  tell  ?  A  coldness  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Edgar  which  she  in  her  sensitiveness  might 
have  exaggerated,  and  an  estrangement  on  the  part  of 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  79 

Edna  that  she  considered  atoned  for  by  that  young  lady's 
last  outburst  of  affection. 

Dyke,  however,  knowing  so  well  Ned's  loving,  generous 
nature,  comprehended  as  much  from  her  meagre  and 
hesitating  statements  as  though  lie  had  really  been  a 
witness  of  Mr.  Edgar's  manner,  and  he  treasured  all  up 
in  his  own  heart. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  your  life  here,"  he  said  ;  and  she 
told  him,  reserving  only  the  humiliations  which  her  duties 
sometimes  entailed  upon  her ;  and  the  account  sounded 
satisfactory  enough,  with  her  light  tasks  that,  as  she 
enumerated  them,  hardly  seemed  to  deserve  the  name,  and 
the  company  with  which  she  said  the  house  was  filled, 
and  the  pastimes  that  occupied  many  hours  of  each  day. 
Dyke  said  he  was  glad  she  had  so  much  variety,  and  he 
strove  to  make  himself  believe  that  he  was  glad  that  she 
was  so  happily  situated,  even  though  she  might  be  already 
on  a  course  which  would  bear  her  far  from  him. 

The  last  moment  of  the  time  he  had  allotted  for  his 
stay  arrived,  and  no  persuasions  of  Ned  could  induce  him 
to  prolong  it,  even  though  she  repeatedly  urged  Mr. 
Carnew's  invitation. 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Carnew,"  he  said  at  last  smilingly, 
"  that  you  lay  such  stress  upon  his  invitation  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  think  to  tell  you ;  he  is  Mrs.  Doloran's 
nephew,  and  in  some  sense  master  of  the  house." 

At  this  instant  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a 
message  from  the  servant  to  say  that  refreshments  awaited 
the  stranger,  and  a  room  was  at  his  disposal,  all  by  Mr. 
Carnew's  order. 

"There,  did  I  not  tell  you?"  laughed  Ned,  delighted 
that  Dyke  should  have  such  attention ;  but  the  young 
fellow  would  not  wait,  and  half  ready  to  cry  that  Mr. 
Alan's  kindness  should  be  so  slighted,  she  accompanied 
him  to  one  of  the  side  doors  that  led  to  the  grounds. 
There  he  had  to  wait  a  moment  while  she  brought  a 
servant  with  a  lantern,  and  in  doing  so  she  encountered 
Mr.  Carnew. 


80  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  Alick,  the  man,  tells  me  that  your  friend  refuses  to 
accept  our  hospitality  ;  do  you  think  it  needs  my  personal 
invitation  ? " 

He  spoke  so  kindly  that  it  banished  her  embarrassment 
at  meeting  him,  and  she  answered  : 

"  I  think  not ;  he  is  in  a  great  hurry." 

"Nevertheless,  I  shall  take  it  upon  myself  to  try,"  lie 
said,  and  so  he  accompanied  her  back  to  Dyke. 

She  performed  the  introduction,  and  Mr.  Carnew 
acknowledged  it  as  gracefully  and  graciously  as  if  the 
great,  country-looking  fellow  was  his  equal  in  the  social 
scale,  while  'Dyke  could  hardly  refrain  from  staring  so 
intently  at  the  handsome  man  before  him  as  to  lay  him 
self  open  to  the  charge  of  rudeness.  Carnew  was  so 
eminently  handsome,  with  that  clear,  penetrating  honest 
look  in  Ms  eyes  which  never  failed  to  win  Dyke's 
admiration. 

But  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  stay,  and  Alan,  with 
a  kindly  expressed  regret  and  adieu,  turned  away  and  left 
the  two  together. 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  asked  Ned,  clinging  to 
the  great,  hard  brown  hand,  that  was  of  itself  loth  to 
withdraw. 

"  Not  until  summer,  I  fear ;  there  is  so  much  to  be  done 
in  the  way  of  travel  yet,  that  I  shall  not  have  an  hour  for 
myself  until  then." 

She  had  already  asked  him  all  about  his  invention,  and 
while  he  had  answered  truthfully,  he  had  still  managed 
to  conceal  from  her  that  his  prospects  were  hardly  as 
bright  as  they  had  been.  Now,  whether  for  the  moment 
that  he  was  off  his  guard,  or  that  his  gloomy  anxiety  had 
overmastered  him,  there  was  a  despondency  in  his  tones 
that  startled  her. 

She  looked  up.  the  lamplight  from  the  hall  on  the  verge 
of  which  they  were  standing,  showing  fully  her  anxious 
countenance,  and  bringing  him  back  instantly  to  his 
wonted  guard.  He  forestalled  the  question  that  he  felt 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  81 

she  was  about  to  ask,  by  saying,  with  his  accustomed 
cheerfulness : 

"  You  must  ascribe  my  heavy-hearted  speaking,  just 
then,  Ned,  to  my  fatigue,  having  journeyed  a  long  distance 
to-day,  and  to  my  anxiety  to  meet  Patten.  In  June  next, 
Meg  will  be  home,  and  then  I  shall  come  for  you  to  spend 
your  summer  with  us,  like  you  used  to  do  when  you  were 
little  Ned." 

lie  stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  her  and  was  gone,  fol 
lowing  the  flash  of  the  lantern  which  at  that  moment 
appeared  round  the  angle  of  the  house. 

She  went  back  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  and  found  herself  an 
object  of  most  undesirable  attention  on  the  part  of  that 
lady,  who  would  know  all  about  Ned's  "  follower,"  as  she 
termed  Ned's  visitor ;  but  here  again  Alan  Carnew  came 
to  her  rescue,  and  so  diverted  his  aunt's  questions  by 
amusing  interruptions  of  his  own,  that  the  attention  of 
the  company  was  withdrawn  from  Ned,  and  after  a  little, 
amused  herself  by  the  wit  of  her  nephew,  Mrs.  Doloran 
forgot  the  blushing,  embarrassed  object  of  her  searching 
and  pointed  observations. 

XX. 

Mr.  Edgar  was  preparing  for  his  trip  to  New  York 
with  his  daughter,  when  a  servant  announced  that  Dykard 
Duttoii  wished  to  see  him. 

The  gentleman's  brow  clouded  slightly ;  lie  imagined 
that  he  knew  the  object  of  Dyke's  visit ;  it  had  refer 
ence  to  his  niece,  and  he  was  not  a  little  annoyed  that  he 
was  perhaps  about  to  be  reproached  for  what  his  own 
conscience  more  than  once  had  twinged  him — suffering 
Ned  to  leave  his  house  so  unprotected — and  while  the 
scowl  deepened  upon  his  brow,  he  ordered  the  young  man. 
to  be  admitted  to  his  presence. 

Dyke's  manliness  was  never  abashed,  no  matter  into 
what  haughty  presence  he  might  be  ushered,  or  amid 
what  splendid  surroundings  he  might  lind  himself,  nor 


82  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

what  might  be  the  nature  of  his  errand.  His  singular 
honesty  of  purpose  raised  him  above  the  awkwardness 
and  embarrassment  of  coarse  and  conceited  minds,  and 
gave  to  his  bearing  a  grave  simplicity  which  won  and  re 
tained  involuntary  respect.  And  Mr.  Edgar  felt  this 
when  Dyke  was  ushered  into  his  presence,  perhaps  more 
than  he  had  done  on  any  previous  occasion,  for  his  brow 
cleared,  and  he  accorded  to  Dyke  the  gracious  salutation 
he  might  have  given  to  an  equal. 

The  honest  fellow  stated  his  errand  at  once.  Had  Mr. 
Edgar  renounced  all  interest  in  his  niece  ? 

"  She  has  withdrawn  herself  from  my  interest,"  was 
the  quiet  reply. 

Dyke  grew  hot.  "  Would  you  suffer  the  merest  friend, 
especially  if  that  friend  was  a  young  girl  who  had  ac 
cepted  the  hospitality  of  your  house,  to  leave  it  in  such  a 
friendless  condition;  would  not  your  manhood  have 
prompted  you  to  accompany  her  to  her  destination,  and 
ascertain  for  yourself  that  her  new  home  was  her  proper 
place  ?  Would  not  your  sense  of  common  charity  have 
impelled  you  to  impress  upon  any  unprotected  orphan 
thrown  into  your  charge,  that  you  were  her  friend,  and 
not  one  of  whom  she  was  to  be  afraid,  and  by  whom  she 
was  to  be  repelled  ?  The  orphan  you  have  suffered  to  go 
forth  in.  such  a  manner  has  a  tie  upon  you  which  you  will 
not  be  able  always  to  conceal  and  repudiate,  and  it  may 
be  a  part  of  the  justice  of  Heaven  to  show  you  one  day 
that  you  have  made  a  bitter  mistake." 

Edgar  himself  was  now  stirred  to  wrath  ;  words  like 
these  burned  into  his  soul,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  the 
foreboding  look  of  a  temper  which  once  loosed  knows 
little  bounds. 

"  You  are  insolent,  young  man  ;  I  shall  brook  no  such 
language." 

"  Hear  me  out,"  said  Dyke  with  a  firmness  which  Mr. 
Edgar  felt  impelled  to  obey. 

"  Since  you  were  satisfied  to  let  her  go,  why  not  have 
written  to  me  of  her  desire ;  I,  at  least,  would  attend  her, 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

as  I  have  attended  her  before,  and  ascertain  the  suitable 
ness  of  the  life  she  had  decided  to  accept.  Instead,  you 
sent  me  no  word,  and  I  only  learned  from  her  letter  that 
she  had  gone  forth  to  earn  her  living.  Better  you  had 
surrendered  all  claim  to  her  long  ago,  and  permitted  Meg 
and  me  to  educate  her  for  a  simple,  useful  station.  Now 
she  is  a  lady,  and  yet  she  is  compelled  to  be  a  hireling." 

"  Cease  your  insults,"  thundered  Edgar,  so  maddened 
by  reproaches,  the  truth  of  which  he  could  not  deny,  that 
he  was  unable  to  hear  more. 

But  Dyke  was  undaunted.  Drawing  himself  to  his  full 
height,  and  looking  unflinchingly  into  the  flashing  eyes 
before  him,  he  resumed : 

"  I  have  come  to-day  to  get  your  final  answer  :  Will  you 
resign  forever  all  claim  of,  and  interest  in  Ned  ? "  The 
name  came  so  readily  to  his  lips  he  would  not  change  it 
for  another. 

"  And  if  I  do,  what  then  ?  "  replied  Edgar. 

"  Then  I  shall  not  be  so  hopeless  of  her  hand  one  day ; 
unprovided  for  by  you,  she  will  be  somewhat  nearer  to 
my  own  station  in  life,  and  when  I  have  won  the  com 
petency  that  will  insure  for  her  a  happy  home,  and  if  her 
hand  be  not  given  to  a  worthier  suitor,  I  shall  lay  my  heart 
at  her  feet.  Did  your  interest  continue  to  provide  for 
her,  my  hope  could  never  be  realized  ;  the  difference  in 
our  social  scale  would  close  my  lips." 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Edgar's  indignation  at  what  he  con 
sidered  the  unabashed  impertinence  of  this  young  man, 
he  could  not  but  secretly  admire  him,  and  also  secretly 
pity  him ;  remembering  the  incident  of  the  flower  sent 
by  Dick  Mackay,  and  Ned's  own,  as  he  considered  it, 
want  of  candor,  he  felt  that  her  affections,  if  not  already 
bestowed  upon  Dick,  would  in  all  probability  be  given  to 
some  one  like  him,  handsome  but  worthless,  in  preference 
to  the  honest  country  fellow  before  him.  He  wondered 
to  himself  if  it  would  not  be  truer  kindness  to  tell  this 
trusting  man  all  that  he  had  observed  so  unfavorably  in 
his  niece  ;  but  when  he  attempted  to  do  so  he  failed — he 


84:  A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

had  not  sufficient  heart  to  crush  Dyke's  hopes,  and  he  said 
instead : 

"  I  renounce  from  this  moment  all  interest  in  my 
brother's  daughter.  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  for 
her  whatever  your  regard  may  prompt.  When  I  meet 
her  I  shall  salute  her  with  the  courtesy  of  an  acquaintance  ; 
further  than  that  she  is  and  she  shall  be  nothing  to  me." 

He  bowed  and  turned  away,  and  Dyke  went  out  with 
a  strange  sense  of  oppression  and  gloom. 

XXI. 

The  cloud  that  had  suddenly  overcast  Dyke's  prospects 
regarding  his  invention,  instead  of  brightening,  became 
darker,  until  it  burst  upon  him  one  morning  in  the  re 
ception  of  a  letter  from  a  person  that  he  did  not  know, 
and  which,  owing  to  his  own  frequent  change  of  abode, 
was  some  time  after  date  in  reaching  him. 

The  letter  told  him  that  Mr.  Patten,  whom  he  had  so 
trusted  and  depended  upon,  had  but  used  that  trust  and 
dependence  for  his  own  gain  and  the  aggrandizement  of 
an  influential  company  to  whom  lie  had  imparted  all  the 
secrets  of  Dyke's  invention ;  that  a  patent  had  been 
obtained  in  their  name  for  what  Dyke's  long  years  of 
patient  thought  and  work  had  achieved,  and  that  Dyke's 
very  efforts,  which  he  had  been  so  painfully  and  deter 
minedly  making  during  the  past  four  months,  had  actually 
gone  to  help  the  success  of  the  company. 

"  I  write  you  all  this,"  the  letter  went  on  to  say,  u  be 
cause  I  know  this  scoundrel  Patten  and  hate  him 
thoroughly,  and  I  have  also  heard  something  of  your  hard 
working,  honest  life.  It  has  been  proposed  even  to  dupe 
you  still  further  by  keeping  you  in  ignorance  of  Patten's 
treachery,  and  have  you  continue  to  canvass  the  country. 
All  this  I  overheard  yesterday ;  for  your  sake  I  am  sorry 
that  the  revelation  came  to  me  so  late.  I  do  not  know 
that  you  can  gain  any  redress,  as  might  and  money  are 
hard  to  be  overcome,  and  this  company  has  enough  of 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  85 

both  to  save  themselves  and  to  protect  even  this  wretch 
Patten." 

That  was  all,  save  the  utterly  strange  signature,  and 
Dyke  read  it  over  and  over  like  one  trying  to  make  out 
a  foreign  language.  Recently,  he  had  himself  doubted 
Patten,  the  man's  actions  and  statements  being  strange 
arid  unsatisfactory  ;  but  his  doubts,  wanting  proof,  had 
taken  no  tangible  form,  and  he  had  sought  to  dismiss 
them. 

Now  they  all  came  before  him  and  gave  vivid  color 
to  this  written  accusation ;  still,  he  would  n;)t  believe  it ; 
the  consequences  to  him,  should  it  be  true,  were  too 
dreadful.  He  put  the  letter  into  his  pocket  and  ordered 
a  conveyance.  By  hard  driving,  he  could  reach  the  sta 
tion,  whence  he  knew  Patten  was  to  board  the  train  for 
New  York.  It  was  only  the  night  before  he  had  received 
a  message  from  him  to  that  effect,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  in  its  plausible  tenor  to  indicate  an  iota  of  the 
treachery  lie  had  already  perpetrated. 

His  horse  was  in  a  foam  of  porspi ration,  though  it 
was  a  sharp  bracing  winter  day,  and  Dyke  himself  was 
little  better  from  his  hot  thoughts  as  he  drove  into  sight 
of  the  rude  depot,  where  a  few  straggling  passengers 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  down  train.  Springing  from 
his  wagon,  and  throwing  his  rein  to  a  lounger,  he  bounded 
on  the  platform  of  the  depot,  for  already  the  whistle  of 
the  approaching  train  sounded,  and  the  few  passengers 
were  stirring  themselves  in  preparation.  Among  them 
was  a  little,  nervous,  wiry  man  ;  he  threw  uneasy  glances 
on  all  sides  of  him,  and  fairly  started  when,  Hushed  and 
perspiration-covered  Dyke  strode  up  to  him. 

"You  can't  go  aboard  this  train,  Mr.  Patten,"  said 
the  young  man,  "  nor  aboard  any  train  until  you  settle 
accounts  with  me." 

"  But  I  must,  Mr.  Dutton,"  pretending  not  to  see  in 
this  summary  check  anything  more  than  an  ordinary  de 
tention  of  business.  "  Our  interests  demand  my  pres 
ence  as  soon  as  possible  in  New  York." 


86  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  Your  interests  may,"  said  Dyke,  with  a  fine,  sarcas 
tic  emphasis,  but  my  interests  demand  your  presence 
here." 

The  train  puffed  into  sight,  and  Mr.  Patten  stooped 
for  his  valise  beside  him  ;  bnt  Dyke  grasped  his  shoulder. 

"  Patten,"  said  he,  "  you  are  dealing  with  a  desperate 
man,  and  if  it  goes  to  the  length  of  brute  force,  by  God 
I  shall  use  it." 

It  was  the  first  time  an  oath  had  ever  passed  Dyke's 
lips,  but  the  sense  of  his  bitter  wrongs  had  transformed 
him. 

And  Patten  cowered  beneath  the  angry  eyes  above 
him,  and  trembled  under  the  strong  grasp  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  made  no  further  effort  to  board  the  train, 
seeing  which,  Dyke  said,  with  a  quietness  that  was  so 
stern  it  was  almost  as  terrible  as  his  anger : 

"  Come  with  me." 

They  entered  a  house  which  made  pretensions  of  being 
a  hotel,  and,  amid  the  bustle  occasioned  by  the  departure 
of  the  train,  they  were  comparatively  unnoticed.  Both 
knew  the  place,  for  both  had  sojourned  there,  and  no 
one  questioned  or  opposed  when  Dyke  led  the  way  to  a 
private  apartment  in  the  rear  of  the  bar.  There,  closing 
the  door,  and  standing  with  his  back  against  it,  he  took 
from  his  pocket  the  accusing  letter,  and  extended  it  to 
his  companion. 

"  Read,  Patten,"  he  said,  and  give  me  one  word  for 
answer,  yes  or  no." 

Patten,  in  mortal  fear,  knowing  his  puny  strength 
beside  this  great  athletic  fellow,  read  as  he  was  requested 
to  do ;  then  he  was  silent,  overwhelmed  that  his  treach 
ery  had  been  so  speedily  and  so  accurately  discovered. 

"  Speak,"  commanded  Dyke,  reading  in  the  man's  very 
silence  a  confirmation  of  his  worst  fears. 

Patten  recovered  himself ;  it  was  necessary  to  tell 
some  story  to  be  saved  from  the  summary  vengeance 
which  threatened  in  Dyke's  eyes,  and  he  said,  trying  to 
assume  a  confidence  and  courage  lie  \vas  far  from  feeling. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  87 

"This  is  not  the  first  time,  Mr.  Dutton,  a  man  has 
been  vilified  by  a  malicious  enemy.  The  patent  this 
company  has  obtained,  though  for  an  invention  similar  to 
your  own,  will  not  entrench  upon  yours  when  you  get 
it." 

"  When  I  get  it,"  repeated  Dyke  sarcastically.  "  And," 
lie  continued,  "  how  is  it  you  have  never  said  a  word  about 
any  invention  similar  to  mine  being  in  the  market?  Was 
it  because  you  were  in  the  interest  of  this  company  from 
the  first,  and  that  you  had  made  your  plan  to  deceive 
me  ? " 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Dutton  ;  believe  me,  I  made  no  plan 
to  deceive  you.  I— 
But  Dyke  cut  him  short. 

"I  want  no  quibbling,  Patten;  I  want  the  truth,  and 
I  shall  have  it  if  I  have  to  force  it  out  of  you." 

He  strode  to  the  now  trembling  wretch. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Dutton,  you  would  do  no  vio 
lence  ;  remember  that  I  am  unarmed,  and  much  smaller 
and  weaker  than  you  are." 

"  Yes,"  muttered  Dyke,  "  unarmed,  but  armed  with 
the  wrong  and  ruin  you  have  brought  upon  me.  An 
swer  me,  Patten ;  have  you  sold  the  interest  you  pledged 
to  me,  to  this  company  ?  Are  you  their  hireling '(  " 

He  caught  Patten  by  the  throat  as  he  spoke,  and  his 
eyes  had  the  glare  of  frenzy. 

"  Spare  me,"  whined  the  cowering  man,  now  in  mor 
tal  fear  for  his  life.  "  Spare  me,  Mr.  Dutton,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all." 

Dyke  relaxed  his  grip,  and  listened  with  what  quietness 
he  could  assume  to  the  account  of  a  duplicity  which  not 
alone  had  stolen  from  him  the  work  of  a  score  of  years, 
but  cruelly  impoverished  him  and  destroyed  by  one  fell 
blow  every  bright  hope  of  his  future.  He  had  assisted 
the  broken  and  hesitating  statement  by  questions  that  the 
deceiver,  through  fear,  was  forced  to  answer,  and  he 
knew  now  the  full  extent  to  which  he  had  been  duped ; 
and  as  he  looked  at  the  whining,  cowering  wretch 


88  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

before  him,  and  realized  the  bitter  blight  wrought  by  his 
treachery,  it  seemed  as  if  a  demon  rose  within  him,  and 
impelled  him  to  crush  this  author  of  his  ruin.  Twice  he 
clinched  his  hands  and  lifted  them  as  if  about  to  strike, 
but  each  time  that  restraint  which  he  had  all  his  life  ex 
ercised  over  himself  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  suffered  his 
hands  to  drop. 

"  Go,"  he  said  at  length,  when  he  had  mastered  his 
passion  sufficiently  to  speak;  "go  and  complete  your 
infernal  treachery.  I  spare  you  only  because  you  are 
too  contemptible  to  suffer  at  my  hands." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  Patten,  glad  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  escape,  darted  forth. 

Dyke  paced  the  room  to  quiet  himself  and  to  think ; 
but  all  his  thoughts  resolved  themselves  into  the  same 
stern  facts — the  loss  of  the  combined  savings  of  Meg  and 
himself,  the  ruin  of  all  his  future  prospects,  and  the  hope 
lessness  of  any  redress.  Still,  something  must  be  done, 
if  nothing  more,  something  to  keep  Meg  from  knowing 
the  extent  of  the  blow,  and  with  no  very  clear  thought  as 
to  what  he  should  do  after  he  readied  New  York,  further 
than  to  consult  a  lawyer,  he  went  out  to  ascertain  the  time 
of  the  next  train  down. 

In  New  York,  the  lawyer  to  whom  Dyke  applied  was 
one  of  the  first  in  his  profession,  and  he  became  singularly 
interested  in  the  young  man's  deplorable  story ;  but  it 
was  a  hopeless  case,  and  he  said  so  frankly.  Not  all  his 
skill  could  avail  to  take  it  into  court,  and  if  it  could,  nothing 
but  Dyke's  simple  word  of  mouth  was  to  be  adduced  as 
evidence  against  Patten ;  Dyke  had  not  even  a  voucher 
of  any  kind  for  the  secrets  regarding  his  invention  which 
he  had  imparted ;  nor  a  paper  to  show  that  Patten  was 
pledged  to  his  interests.  It  was  simply  a  case  of  cruelly 
misplaced  confidence,  and,  as  such,  there  was  no  help  for 
the  poor  ruined  victim. 

The  young  man  did  not  answer  when  the  lawyer  de 
livered  his  opinion  ;  he  sat  looking  straight  at  the  finely 
cut  intelligent  face  before  him,  with  an  expression  that, 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  89 

inured  as  the  lawyer  was  to  harrowing  looks  on  the  faces 
of  his  clients,  moved  him  to  the  soul.  It  corroborated 
so  painfully  all  of  the  sad  facts  he  had  heard.  That 
Dyke's  was  no  common  nature  he  well  judged,  and 
prompted  by  his  sympathy,  and  by  the  fancy  which  he 
had  taken  to  the  young  man,  he  said : 

"  Since  your  circumstances  have  suffered  such  a  reverse 
by  this  wretched  business,  will  you  accept  a  position  in  a 
1  arge  business  house  here  ?  The  remuneration  may  be  some 
what  small  at  first,  but  it  will  increase  with  the  develop 
ment  of  your  business  qualities." 

Dyke  hailed  the  proposition.  It  would  give  him  work 
for  mind  and  body,  and  provide  for  him  that  subsistence 
for  which  he  scarcely  knew  where  to  turn  now ;  it  might 
also,  after  months  of  close  economy,  restore  to  his  aunt  a 
portion  of  the  savings  he  had  so  miserably  lost,  lie 
could  possibly  let  the  little  farm  among  the  mountains, 
induce  Meg  to  make  a  longer  stay  with  her  relatives,  and 
not  yet  undeceive  her  with  regard  to  his  expected 
success.  So  he  accepted  the  offer,  and  in  a  week,  having 
completed  his  few  arrangements,  he  was  installed  as  one 
of  the  junior  clerks  in  a  large  wholesale  commission  house, 
and  his  letters  to  Meg  and  _N"ed,  without  being  in  the  least 
untruthful,  were  so  carefully  worded  that  neither  dreamed 
of  the  bitter  and  blighting  change  which  had  come  over 
his  prospects. 

XXII. 

The  winter  and  spring  passed,  and  Ned — who  in  every 
trying  hour,  and  sometimes  she  had  many  of  them,  com 
forted  herself  by  thinking  of  the  summer  when  she  should 
go  home,  as  she  fondly  regarded  the  little  mountain 
farm — had  begun  to  count  the  days  that  must  elapse  until 
June  arrived,  the  time  she  had  set  for  her  departure. 
Her  remuneration  was,  as  Mrs.  Mowbray  had  said  it  would 
be,  quite  liberal,  anJ  even  more  than  that,  for  Mrs. 
Doloran  had  frequent  impulses  of  generosity,  in  which  she 


90  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

made  the  young  girl  handsome  presents.  Ned  happened 
to  suit  her  whimsical  disposition,  and  even  to  win  by  her 
gentle,  reserved  demeanor  a  little  of  her  affection,  though 
these  facts  did  not  restrain  any  of  her  absurd  require 
ments.  And  Ned  had  been  as  saving  as  the  veriest  miser ; 
not  a  cent  went  for  any  purpose  save  the  one,  that  of 
hoarding  in  order  to  be  able  to  pour  into  Meg's  lap  all  of 
her  little  earnings.  Not  that  she  thought  Meg  needed  it, 
but  it  would  be  an  outlet  for  that  affectionate  gratitude 
which,  impelled  her  to  make  some  return  for  all  the  love 
and  care  that  had  been  bestowed  upon  herself. 

Dyke  wrote  as  infrequently  as  ever,  and  his  carefully 
worded  letters  gave  her  no  intimation  of  what  he  was 
doing.  She  supposed  that  his  long  sojourn  in  New  York 
was  in  the  interest  of  his  invention,  and  that  when  she 
saw  him  in  the  summer  time,  he  would  give  her  all  the 
particulars  he  omitted  to  write  now. 

So,  as  the  summer  came  on  apace,  and  Hahandabed  as 
sumed  all  its  summer  glory,  inviting  the  guests,  of  which 
the  house  was  wellnigh  full,  to  constant  out-door  pastimes, 
Ned  seemed  to  grow  as  gay-hearted  as  any  of  them.  Her 
eyes  frequently  sparkled  with  pleasure,  for  she  was  con- 
otantly  thinking  of  her  summer  visit.  How  she  pictured 
every  object  in  the  surroundings  of  her  mountain  home  : 
the  mountains  themselves,  the  lofty  objects  of  her  childish 
fear  and  wonder ;  the  wood,  to  the  trees  of  which  she  had 
given  in  her  childhood  a  human  individuality  ;  the  little 
farm,  with  its  patches  of  late  ripening  vegetables,  its  rude 
barn,  and  its  two  stupid,  patient  cows  •.  the  house  itself 
with  its  few  low,  roughly  ceil  inged  rooms,  and  lastly, 
warm-hearted,  loving  Meg  and  Dyke.  She  saw  them  all, 
and  thinking  of  them  so  much  Ivy  day,  she  dreamed  fre 
quently  of  them  by  night.  In  her  last  letter  to  Dyke,  a 
letter  written  in  the  early  part  of  May,  she  wrote  very 
joyfully  of  her  expected  visit,  reminding  him  that  there 
were  scarcely  four  weeks  until  the  arrival  of  the  time  ap 
pointed  for  him  to  come  for  her.  It  had  been  part  of 
Dyke's  plan  to  obtain  a  vacation  of  a  few  weeks,  during 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  91 

which  he  would  take  both  Ned  and  Meg  home,  and  en 
joy  with  them  a  brief  season  of  repose  and  happiness, 
continuing,  however,  to  conceal  from  them  his  misfortune. 
But,  on  the  very  day  that  Ned's  letter  came,  he  was  in 
formed  of  his  promotion  to  a  department  of  the  business 
which  would  require  his  closest  personal  supervision  ;  the 
increase  in  his  salary  was  not  large,  but  the  promotion  it 
self  was  a  compliment  to  the  young  man's  business  tact 
and  integrity ;  and  his  friend,  the  lawyer,  whose  interest 
in  the  young  fellow  continued,  strongly  counselled  him 
not  to  refuse.  It  seemed  to  be  much  the  better  course 
despite  the  disappointment  it  would  entail  upon  Ned  and 
himself,  and  after  a  night's  deliberation  he  accepted  it. 

Then  he  decided  to  write  frankly  to  Ned ;  he  could 
not  keep  her  in  ignorance  longer  without  telling  un 
truths,  and  Dyke's  whole  soul  shrank  from  such  a  course. 

So  he  broke  his  news  to  her  very  gently,  very  ten 
derly,  but  very  honestly,  without,  however,  letting  her 
know  the  poverty  of  his  financial  circumstances,  and  he 
concluded  with : 

"  The  blow  was  very  hard  at  first,  Ned,  but,  thank 
God,  I  am  recovering  and  able  to  hope  that  good  will 
come  out  of  even  all  this  wrong ;  if  a  man  keeps  his 
heart  right,  it  makes  little  difference  after  all  what  be 
falls  him,  for  life  is  so  short,  and  God  is  overhead  to  pro 
tect  and  support  us. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  your  disappointment  and  for  my 
own,  for,  like  you,  I  had  been  counting  the  days  which 
must  pass  until  we  were  once  more  together  in  our  lit 
tle  home  ;  but  iny  own  brave  sister "  (what  control  he 
was  obliged  to  exercise,  not  to  pen  a  warmer  term), 
"  you  will  bear  this  as  you  have  borne  other  things,  and 
perhaps  in  the  course  of  another  year  our  wish  may  be 
gratified." 

"  Jake  "  (by  Jake  was  meant  the  hired  man  who  had 
helped  Dyke  in  the  care  of  the  farm)  "  has  married, 
and  he  and  his  wife  are  living  in  our  little  home,  and 
will  take  care  of  it  for  us. 


92  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


1 


"  My  heart  fails  me  to  tell  Aunt  Meg  what  I  have  told 
on,  and  she  is  so  easily  satisfied   so  long  as  she  thinks 

am  doing  well,  that  1  fancy  it  will  be  the  better  course 
to  say  simply  that  I  am  needed  in  New  York,  and  can 
not  spare  the  time  to  see  her  for  some  months.  She  is 
quite  happy  in  Albany,  being  the  recipient  of  an  affec 
tion  from  her  nephews  there,  as  fond  and  lavish  as  she 
herself  bestows ;  indeed,  they  have  more  than  once  writ 
ten  to  me  that  they,  having  as  natural  a  claim  upon  her 
as  I  have,  would  like  to  keep  her  with  them  always." 

With  a  tender,  brotherly  remembrance,  the  letter  ended. 

Ned,  full  of  delight  and  expectation,  had  flown  to  her 
own  room  to  read  it ;  now  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  would 
burst  with  agony.  So  rudely  shattered  all  her  summer 
hopes ;  but  it  was  not  that  thought  which  gave  her  the 
keenest  pain ;  it  was  the  thought  of  Dyke's  bitter  blow. 
She  remembered  so  well  what  he  had  said  to  her  that 
morning  nearly  a  year  ago  in  Weewald  Place,  that  if  he 
failed,  how  poor  he  and  Meg  would  be ;  he  had  failed, 
and  consequently  he  must  now  be  poor  ;  poor,  and  per 
haps  even  struggling  in  his  poverty  to  remunerate  for 
Meg's  support,  despite  all  that  he  said  about  the  affection 
of  her  other  nephews.  She  flew  to  her  trunk  and  brought 
forth  her  hoarded  savings;  they  amounted  to  a  little 
over  two  hundred  dollars.  How  delighted  she  was  to 
have  such  a  sum,  even  though  she  did  not  know  whether 
it  would  be  of  much  assistance  to  Dyke.  But  he  should 
have  it  immediately,  and  she  gathered  up  the  shining 
pieces  and  put  them  into  her  purse.  Then  she  wondered 
how  she  would  get  them  to  him  ;  she  was  ignorant  of  the 
forms  of  sending  money,  and  could  only  think  of  giving 
it  in  charge  of  some  of  the  servants  who  occasionally 
went  to  the  city.  But  she  shrank  from  that  plan,  not 
being  certain  of  the  honesty  of  the  person  to  whom  she 
might  intrust  it,  and  feeling  some  repugnance  to  ac 
quainting  a  servant  with  her  business. 

She  also  shrank   from  asking  Mrs.    Dolaran,   fearing 
that  lady  would  in  turn  ask  her  all  sorts  of  unpleasant 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  93 

questions.  At  last  slie  thought  of  Mr.  Carnew  ;  he  would 
know  and  direct  her,  and  though  she  hesitated  a  little  to 
approach  him,  because  of  the  gravity  and  reserve  which 
always  marked  his  manners,  she  felt  assured  he  would 
treat  her  graciously,  and  not  being  a  woman,  he  would  be 
unlikely  to  concern  himself  more  than  was  necessary  with 
her  business. 

So,  to  Mr.  Carnew  she  applied,  finding  him  in  the  li 
brary,  and  astonishing  him  not  a  little  by  her  errand, 
which  she  stated  in  a  very  straightforward  and  modest 
manner. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  check  payable  to  the  order  of  your 
friend,"  he  replied,  "  and  you  can  inclose  it  in  a  letter." 

"  Thank  you ;  that  will  do,"  and  she  pulled  out  her 
little  purse. 

He  drew  up  the  check  on  a  city  bank,  payable  to  Dykard 
Dutton,  thinking  within  himself  as  he  wrote  that  Dut 
ton — whom  he  remembered  the  instant  lie  hoard  the 
name,  as  the  country-looking  fellow  to  whom  Ned  had  in 
troduced  him — was  Ned's  lover,  and  that  he  was  worthless 
and  unmanly  enough  to  take  this  poor  girl's  earnings,  for 
Ned  had  told  him  nothing  of  the  circumstances  that 
might  render  sufficiently  laudable  Dyke's  acceptance  of 
her  gift.  And  he  pitied  Ned,  and  at  the  same  time 
had  a  sort  of  contempt  for  her;  contempt  that  she  had 
so  little  character  as  to  love  this  worthless  fellow  ;  but  he 
suffered  none  of  his  feelings  to  appear,  and  he  handed 
her  the  check  writh  charming  courtesy. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  again  in  her  simple,  modest 
manner,  raising  her  clear,  frank  eyes  for  a  moment  to 
his,  and  taking  her  way  gracefully  out. 

He  watched  her,  admiring  her  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
feeling  for  an  instant  something  like  a  secret  pang  that 
she  had  a  lover.  But  the  next  moment  he  laughed  at 
his  odd  fancy,  and  turning  to  his  books  again,  forgot  her 
for  the  time. 


94:  A    FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 

XXIII. 

Ned's  affectionate  letter,  with  the  check  inclosed,  safely 
readied  Dyke,  and  when  he  saw  that  evidence  of  her  lov 
ing  generosity,  and  read  the  tender  little  message  which 
came  straight  from  her  heart,  he  was  well  nigli  unmanned. 
Again  and  again  he  pressed  the  written  characters  that 
had  something  of  their  old  childish  cramp  still,  to  his 
lips  before  putting  them  away  with  the  bulky  parcel  of 
her  other  letters. 

Then  he  replied,  returning  the  check,  with  the  assur 
ance  that  his  salary  was  sufficient  for  all  present  wants, 
and  that  he  had  been  touched  to  the  heart  by  her  loving 
thoughtfulness. 

Ned  was  sorely  disappointed ;  she  felt  so  certain  that 
Dyke  needed  it,  if  not  for  himself,  for  Meg,  and  with  the 
letter  and  check  in  her  hand,  she  was  trying  to  tl link  how 
she  could  get  the  money  to  Meg  ;  to  send  it  by  check  to  that 
good  simple  soul  would  it  make  it  necessary  for  some  of 
the  Albany  nephews  to  know  about  it,  and  Ned  wanted 
her  gift  to  be  secret.  She  could  think  of  but  one  plan  : 
to  go  to  Albany  herself  ;  it  was  only  to  step  on  the  train, 
and  to  be  whirled  in  a  few  hours  to  her  destination ; 
surely,  nothing  extraordinary  nor  venturesome  in  that, 
save  the  fact  that  she  would  travel  alone ;  but  she  had 
travelled  alone  from  Barrytown,  and  now  she  was  even 
more  of  a  woman  than  at  that  time.  She  knew  Meg's 
address,  Dyke  having  incidentally  mentioned  it  in  one  of 
his  letters,  and  she  felt  that  her  native  intelligence  would 
guide  her  safely.  Then,  how  delighted  Meg  would  be  to 
see  her  !  Her  own  spirits  rose  at  the  thought,  and  she 
went  with  fleet  steps  to  return  to  Mr.  Carnew  his  check, 
arid  to  get  back  her  money. 

"  So  your  friend  refused  to  take  your  gift,"  he  said, 
slightly  smiling,  but  thinking  that  her  lover  was  a  better 
man  than  he  had  deemed  him  to  be,  and  again  he  was 
conscious  of  a  moment's  secret  pang  that  she  had  a  lover; 
butj  as  before,  he  was  only  grave  and  courteous. 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Her  chief  anxiety  was  acquainting  Mrs.  Doloran  with 
her  intended  absence  of  a  week,  and  her  heart  sank  a 
little  as  she  imagined  that  lady  refusing  to  let  her  go ; 
but  Ned  determined  to  make  her  journey  at  all  hazards, 
and,  should  her  determination  cost  her  her  present  position, 
she  was  sanguine  enough  of  another,  even  though  it 
might  be  only  that  of  nursery  governess. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  however,  was  exceptionally  reasonable, 
and  even  kind,  on  hearing  Ned's  request.  They  were 
alone  when  the  girl  told  her,  the  latter  being  careful  to 
choose  the  time,  and  the  widow,  in  her  impulse  of  gene 
rosity,  said  Ned  might  take  a  month,  and  insisted  on  pre 
senting  her  then  and  there  with  a  sum  of  money  which 
was  more  than  sufficient  to  defray  all  the  current  ex 
penses  of  her  absence.  And  Ned  went  to  bed  that  night 
thankful  and  happy. 

But  the  next  morning,  when  the  whole  company  was 
assembled  on  the  lawn  after  breakfast,  and  Mrs.  Doloran 
attacked  by  a  sudden  indisposition  which,  not  sufficient 
to  confine  her  to  her  room,  was  yet  enough  to  make  her 
unusually  whimsical  and  fretful,  began  to  revert  to  her  pro 
mise  of  a  month's  absence  made  to  Ned  the  night  before, 
she  regretted  extremely  having  given  any  such  pledge. 
Who  would  take  Ned's  place  while  the  latter  was  gone ; 
who  would  be  the  shy,  sensitive,  obliging,  and  uncom 
plaining  butt  that  this  poor,  tried  lady's  companion  had 
been  during  all  those  months  ?  No ;  she  could  not  have 
it,  and  impelled  both  by  her  peevishness,  and  by  the  hope 
of  badgering  Ned  out  of  her  intended  journey,  she  said 
suddenly,  when  there  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  noisy 
conversation : 

u  You  did  not  tell  me  last  night,  Ned,  that  there  was 
any  real  necessity  for  this  journey  of  yours  to  Albany. 
What  is  it  that  is  taking  you  there  ?  " 

Everybody  in  the  company  looked  up,  and  looked  di 
rectly  at  poor  Ned  ;  even  Alan  Carnew  sat  with  a  book 
before  him  ;  he  was  the  more  interested,  as  this  was  the 
first  intimation  he  had  of  Ned's  intended  journey,  and 


96  A  FATAL  RESEMBLANCE:. 

not  knowing  whether  she  meant  to  take  her  final  leave  of 
Rahandabed,  he  waited  anxiously  for  further  develop 
ments. 

She  was  sitting  slightly  in  the  rear  of  Mrs.  Doloran, 
whose  ample  person  partly  shaded  her,  and  she  answered 
only  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  that  lady  : 

"  I  am  going  to  visit  an  old  and  very  dear  friend." 

Captious  Mrs.  Doloran  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  the 
reply. 

"  Going  to  visit  an  old  and  dear  friend,"  she  repeated, 
in  her  loud  unfemiiiine  voice,  "  that  is  all  very  well  to 
say ;  it  sounds  very  sweet,  and  very  true,  too :  lie 
is  an  old  and  dear  friend — a  very  dear  friend,  no 
doubt.  I  dare  say  he  is  the  same  that  called  on  you  here, 
a  little  while  after  you  came ;  now  be  frank,  Ned,  and 
tell  us  all  about  it ;  you  are  going  to  be  married,  are  you 
not,  and  you  are  going  to  do  it  in  a  very  sly,  quiet  man 
ner,  coming  back  to  us  as  if  nothing  at  all  had  happened ; 
or,  perhaps,  you  are  already  married— 

Would  nothing  stop  this  woman's  tongue  ?  Ned  was 
bursting  with  indignation ;  surely  no  remuneration  could 
pay  for  such  insults  as  these  ;  but  Mrs.  Doloran  was 
mounted  on  one  of  her  favorite  hobbies,  and  she  was  go 
ing  to  ride  it  until  she  was  tired. 

"I  do  not  doubt  in  the  least  but  that  you  are  married  ; 
you  are  so  quiet,  and  so  shy,  and  so  just  like  what  a  mar 
ried  woman  would  be,  and— 

But  Ned  could  endure  no  more ;  her  whole  fiery  tem 
per  was  aflame.  She  rose  from  her  seat  forgetful  of 
everything  but  that  she  was  the  butt  of  most  heartless 
insults. 

Her  large,  lustrous  eyes  sparkling  with  anger,  her 
cheeks  of  the  richest  crimson,  and  the  firm  indignant 
poise  of  her  graceful  form  as  she  stood  excited  universal, 
though  secret,  admiration.  Alan  Carnew's  eyes  were 
piercing  her  through,  as  she  said  : 

"It  may  belong  to  wealth  to  insult   the  poor,  Mrs. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  97 

JDoloran,  but  it  is  a  base  womanhood  which  insults  the 
defenseless  of  her  sex." 

Her  voice  trembled  painfully  while  she  spoke,  but  the 
firm  poise  of  her  person  had  not  once  yielded,  and  when 
she  had  finished  she  walked  away  with  the  mien  of  a 
queen. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  Mascar  Ordotte,  seated  on  the  other 
side  of  Mrs.  Doloran,  "I  never  felt  so  much  like  applaud 
ing  anybody  in  my  life ;  that  girl  lias  the  right  kind  of 
spirit." 

A  remark  which  Alan  Carnew  echoed  in  his  secret 
heart. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  with  her  wonted  sudden  change  of  tem 
per,  had  gone  instantaneously  from  her  peevish  and  wanton 
attack  upon  Ned,  to  fear  and  dismay  lest  Ned  should 
leave  her  altogether. 

"  Go  after  her,  Mascar,"  she  pleaded,  "  tell  her  I  am 
sorry  for  all  that  I  said,  that  she  can  have  two  months  to 
visit  her  friends  in  Albany;  and  here,  take  her  these  as 
peace  offerings— 

Hurriedly  divesting  herself  of  a  diamond  ring,  her 
necklace  of  brilliants,  a  lace  handkerchief,  whose  purchase 
price  must  have  been  at  the  very  least  a  couple  of  hun 
dred  dollars,  and  she  would  have  poured  into  Ordotte's 
] lands  more  of  her  personal  adornments  but  that  he  stop 
ped  her,  saying,  laughingly : 

"  No  doubt  the  young  lady  will  come  to  terms  without 
requiring  so  many  gifts." 

He  was  nothing  loth  to  go  upon  the  errand,  for  he  had 
liis  own  secret  reason  for  wishing  Ned  not  to  take  her 
final  departure  from  Ilahandabed.  Did  she  do  so,  it 
might  entail  upon  him  some  trouble  to  keep  constantly 
informed  of  her  whereabouts. 

Ned's  temper,  according  to  its  old  fashion,  was  quickly 
succeeded  by  penitence,  and  calling  to  mind  the  many 
favors  she  had  received  from  Mrs.  Doloran,  and  remem 
bering  also  that  the  lady,  owing  to  her  whimsical  mind, 
was  hardly  responsible  for  what  she  said,  and  that  she,  on 


98  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

accepting  the  position,  had  been  warned  of  the  trying 
nature  of  its  duties,  she  was  full  of  censure  for  herself. 
So  Ordotte  came  upon  her  crying  heartily,  and  looking 
almost  as  lovely  in  her  tears  as  she  had  done  in  her  tem 
per. 

He  delivered  his  errand  in  a  very  pleasant,  kindly  way, 
and  she  was  touched  anew  by  these  proofs  of  Mrs. 
Doloran's  generosity. 

"  Take  them  back,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  her  that  it  is  I 
who  crave  forgiveness  for  having  forgotten  iny  place  so  far 
as  to  make  that  hasty,  angry  speech.  Tell  her  I  am  very, 
very  sorry." 

And  the  pretty  mouth  quivered  again,  and  the  eyes 
filled  once  more,  and  Ordotte  hurried  back  with  his  mes 
sage,  in  order  to  be  out  of  sight  of  so  much  beauty  in 
such  touching  distress. 

In  the  exuberance  of  her  delight,  Mrs.  Doloran  would 
go  herself  to  Ned,  and  in  a  little  while,  during  which  the 
company  were  on  the  pinnacle  of  amused  expectation,  she 
returned,  with  one  of  her  ample  arms  about  Ned's  waist, 
and  her  face  expressive  of  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

So,  Ned's  journey  to  Albany  was  amicably  settled  and 
the  next  day,  promising  to  return  in  a  week,  but  being 
assured  she  might  remain  two  months,  she  was  driven  to 
the  station  by  Donald  Macgilivray. 

XXIV. 

The  Albany  relatives  of  Meg  Standish  consisted  of  a 
single  and  a  married  nephew — children  of  her  only  de 
ceased  brother — who  lived  and  worked  together  They 
were  carpenters  and  in  sufficiently  comfortable  circum 
stances  to  enable  them  to  keep  their  own  shop  adjoining 
their  own  very  cosey  little  dwelling,  so  that  Ned,  when 
arrived  at  her  journey's  end,  tired,  dusty,  and  hungry, 
having  been  too  timid  to  seek  refreshment  anywhere, 
found  herself  ascending  the  stoop  of  a  very  neat  and  sub 
stantial-looking  house.  It  was  evening  and  too  dark 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  99 

to  distinguish  well  the  face  of  the  woman  who  admitted 
her,  but  the  voice  that  responded  to  her  inquiry  for  Meg 
was  cordial  and  pleasant. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  she  lives  here ;  come  in  and  I'll  tell  her." 

Ned  went  into  a  little  room  opening  from  the  hall,  and 
in  which  a  lighted  lamp  emitted  rays  enough  to  show  the 
neat  and  tasteful  appearance  of  the  apartment ;  in  a  few 
minutes  she  recognized  Meg's  well-known  step. 

The  fond  old  creature  could  hardly  credit  the  evidence 
of  her  eyes ;  was  it  really  Ned.  in  the  flesh  that  stood  be 
fore  her,  and  not  some  cruel  deception  of  her  own 
imagination  ?  But  Ned's  voice  calling  to  her,  and  Ned's 
arms  open  to  enclasp  her,  assured  her  ;  she  embraced  her 
darling,  while,  tears  of  joy  streamed  down  her  wrinkled 
cheeks. 

What  an  evening  that  was !  Meg  was  so  proud  and 
happy  to  show  the  young  lady  to  her  relatives,  to  mark 
their  admiration  of  her  beauty,  and  their  wonder  and 
pleasure  at  her  unaffected  manners.  She  won  them  all, 
from  the  brawny,  cordial  nephews  themselves  and  the 
good-hearted  wife,  to  the  little  toddling,  two-year  old 
child,  who  took  to  nestling  on  the  young  lady's  lap,  with 
the  same  confidence  that  she  showed  to  her  mother 
and  Meg. 

And  to  Ned,  the  affectionate  hospitality  of  these  people 
was  delightful ;  it  was  so  honest,  so  simple,  so  different 
from  the  regard  shown  to  her  in  K-ahaiidabed.  Her  own 
loving  nature  expanded  under  it,  and  she  ate  and  drank 
of  the  simple  but  inviting  repast  prepared  for  her,  and 
laughed  and  talked  with  perfect  abandon. 

Meg's  relatives  knew  Ned's  whole  story,  both  from  Meg's 
own  frequent  recitals,  and  from  Dyke's  letters,  which, 
owing  to  his  aunt's  inability  to  read  writing,  they  were 
obliged  to  read  for  her;  and  it  was  no  slight  subject  of 
indignant  wonder  to  them  that  Mr.  Edgar  should  persist 
in  concealing  his  relationship  from  his  niece,  as  she  was, 
if  indeed  she  was  not  his  daughter ;  but  as  it  was  his 
desire  to  do  so,  and  Meg  would  not  displease  him,  her 


100  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

relatives  were  equally  careful  to  drop  no  word  that  might 
reveal  lier  identity  to  their  young  visitor. 

The  next  day,  when  Meg  and  she  were  alone,  the  men 
being  at  work,  and  the  good  woman  of  the  house  engaged 
in  extra  culinary  operations  for  the  benefit  of  her  young 
guest,  the  latter  took  out  her  purse  and  poured  its  contents 
into  Meg's  lap. 

"All  for  you,  Meg,"  she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
delight ;  they  have  been  so  good  to  me  in  Rahaiidabed 
that  I  have  been  enabled  to  save  it." 

But  Meg  could  not  speak ;  she  was  so  touched  by  this 
proof  of  affectionate  gratitude  that  a  lump  rose  in  her 
throat,  and  a  film  came  over  her  eyes ;  she  could  only 
throw  her  arms  around  Ned's  neck  and  kiss  her.  And 
when  she  recovered  herself,  she  put  the  money  back  into 
the  little  purse,  and  said  through  her  tears  : 

"  It's  a  proud  and  happy  day  for  me  to  have  you  re 
member  me  so,  but  I  can  na  take  it,  my  darling  ;  I  have 
iia  need  of  it,  being  well  provided  for  by  the  toys  here, 
God  bless  them.  They  seem  glad  enough  to  have  me 
with  them,  and  were  well  pleased  when  Dyke's  last  letter 
came,  saying  that  he  couldn't  go  back  to  the  mountain 
home  yet,  and  that  I'd  have  to  stay  here  another  while." 

All  Ned's  persuasions  could  not  induce  her  to  accept 
the  gift.  She  constantly  replied  : 

"  I  have  na  need  of  it." 

Then  Ned  begged  Meg  to  keep  the  money  in  trust  for 
her,  but  even  at  that  the  old  woman  demurred ;  at  length 
to  satisfy  the  young  girl,  who  seemed  so  pained  by  all 
these  refusals,  she  consented  to  keep  half  of  it  in  that 
manner. 

"Keep  the  other  half  yourself,"  she  said,  "for  there's 
nae  telling  now  that  we're  off  from  each  other,  Dyke  and 
you  and  me,  and  you  among  strangers,  what  may  chance 
that  you'd  need  a  bit  of  your  savings." 

And  Ned  was  obliged  to  yield. 

The  good  people  provided  for  their  young  visitor  such 
entertainment  as  was  afforded  by  drives  to  places  of 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  101 

interest  in  and  about  the  city,  and  they  were  extremely 
sorry  that  her  stay  must  be  so  limited  ;  but  she  had  said 
she  would  not  remain  longer  than  a  week,  and  she  felt  it 
to  be  her  duty  to  keep  her  word,  even  though  she  had 
Mrs.  Doloran's  permission  to  stay  two  months. 

Fate  decreed,  however,  that  Ned  should  be  unable  to 
fulfil  her  promise,  for,  before  the  close  of  the  week,  she 
was  confined  to  her  bed  with  some  sort  of  a  fever.  The 
physician,  who  was  hurriedly  summoned,  could  not  tell  at 
first  whether  it  was  the  contagious  illness  raging  in 
another  part  of  the  city,  but  for  safety's  sake  lie  advised 
the  family  to  send  their  patient  to  the  hospital  They 
were  indignant  at  the  proposition,  and  he,  seeing  that,  and 
being  touched  by  their  unselfish  regard  for  one  who,  by 
some  chance,  he  learned  was  no  relative,  induced  them  to 
appropriate  a  part  of  the  house  for  her  especial  use,  and 
to  be  content  to  have  one  person  alone  in  attendance  upon 
her.  Of  course  that  person  was  Meg,  and  never  was 
patient  nursed  more  tenderly,  nor  even  skilfully ;  for  the 
old  woman  in  her  youthful  days  had  acquired  a  quantity 
of  valuable  knowledge  regarding  the  sick,  added  to  which 
she  had  strong  common  sense,  and  affection  now  made  her 
quick  and  certain  in  the  use  of  both. 

One  of  her  nephews  suggested  sending  word  to  Dyke, 
lest  the  young  lady  should  die,  and  lie,  thinking  so  much 
of  her,  would  hardly  forgive  them  for  such  neglect,  but 
Meg  shook  her  head,  replying : 

"  There't  na  need  of  it ;  we'll  bring  her  through  with 
the  help  of  the  Lord,  and  what  'd  be  the  use  of  worrying 
that  poor  fellow,  and  bringing  him  from  his  business  all 
the  way  up  here.  Na,  na;  her  disease  is  a  slow  one,  but 
she'll  come  round  all  right  in  a  few  weeks." 

The  disease  was'  a  slow  one,  consuming  five  weeks  be 
fore  the  poor,  weary,  wasted  patient  could  even  sit  up  in 
the  bed. 

Then  one  of  her  first  questions  was,  had  any  word  been 
sent  to  Mrs  Doloran. 

"  Na,  dear ;  we  didn't  know  rightly  the  directions  to 


102  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE 

send  to,  and  you  were  too  sick  to  tell  us ;  but  what 's  the 
differ  ?  When  you're  well  enough  to  go  back,  if  she  wants 
you  she'll  take  you  and  welcome,  and  if  she  don't  there's 
plenty  of  other  places  for  the  like  of  you ;  so  don't  be 
troubling  yourself,  but  take  your  rest." 

And  truth  to  tell,  Ned  was  glad  to  follow  the  advice ; 
she  was  so  weak  and  tired  that  it  was  an  exertion  for  her 
even  to  think  of  Rahandabed. 

How  kind  everybody  was  to  her  in  the  little  household, 
and  not  one  would  hear  of  remuneration  in  any  form ; 
she  used  to  lie  awake  sometimes  in  the  night,  wondering 
whether  God  gave  all  the  heart  and  feeling  to  the  people 
in  humble  circumstances ;  her  experience  of  the  rich  had 
been  so  different  from  all  this  tender  treatment.  Eight 
weeks  from  the  day  of  her  arrival  in  Albany,  she  was 
ready  to  leave  the  historic  city ;  she  would  have  gone  a 
week  before,  but  every  voice  was  raised  in  protest,  and 
she  felt  obliged  to  yield  to  their  combined  and  earnest 
entreaties. 

She  had  not  written  to  Rahandabed,  being  content  to 
trust  to  what  Meg  had  said  about  other  places  being  ob 
tainable  ;  and  so  long  as  Mrs.  Doloran  had  given  her  two 
months,  it  might  be  as  well  to  explain  matters  in  person 
as  by  letter. 

She  looked  pale  and  emaciated,  and  her  strength  seemed 
very  fragile,  but  she  insisted  that  she  was  stronger  than 
she  appeared  to  be,  and  she  allayed  their  fears  by  promis 
ing  to  write  immediately,  and  in  case  Mrs.  Doloran 
decided  not  to  re-engage  her,  to  return  to  them  without 
delay. 

Meg  and  one  of  her  nephews  accompanied  her  to  the 
train,  where  the  young  man  purchased  her  ticket  and  saw 
that  she  was  comfortably  seated.  She  looked  so  ill,  owing 
to  her  pallor  and  emaciation,  that,  as  she  raised  her  veil  to 
bid  him  good-by,  many  a  pitying  eye  was  directed  to  her, 
and  he  himself  felt  like  purchasing  another  ticket  and  ac 
companying  her  all  the  way,  but,  when  he  intimated  his 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  103 

desire,  she  protested  so  energetically  that  he  was  obliged 
to  forego  it. 

And  so  she  was  whirled  away  with  Meg's  fond  face 
looking  up  to  her  from  the  side  of  the  track,  where  the 
old  woman  would  insist  upon  standing,  so  as  to  get  a  last 
view  of  her  darling. 

Could  Ned  have  foreseen  the  circumstances  under 
which  she  would  next  meet  that  fond  old  countenance, 
she  would  rather  have  journeyed  to  the  most  distant  part 
of  the  earth,  than  go  to  liahaiidabed. 

XXY. 

"Not  expecting  to  find  at  the  C •  station  any  of  the 

Rahandabed  carriages,  Ned  was  about  to  engage  one  of 
the  public  conveyances  in  waiting,  when  some  one  be 
hind  her  said,  with  a  strong  Scotch  accent : 

"  Eh !  Miss  Edgar.  This  way."  It  was  Donald  Mac- 
gilivray,  with  his  Scotch  face  all  aglow  from  delighted 
surprise. 

u  They'll  be  glad  eneuch  at  the  house  to  sec  you,"  he 
continued,  "  for  Mrs.  Doloran's  gang  daft  wi'  thinking 
you  never  meant  to  come  back,  and  Mr.  Ordotte's  gang 
up  to  Albany  looking  for  you  ;  but  he  had  1100  directions 
to  find  you.  So  I  was  thinking  it  'd  be  iiae  easy  wark  for 
him  to  get  you.  He's  thought  to  be  coming  back  on  this 
train,  and  that's  why  I'm  here  to  fetch  him,  but  to  my 
mind  it'll  be  as  good  if  I  fetch  you." 

All  this  time  he  was  leading  the  way  to  a  handsome 
open  carriage,  arid  as  Ned  took  her  seat,  feeling  consider 
ably  relieved  that  she  would  not  be  sent  away  from 
Rahandabed,  the  man  seemed  struck  with  her  changed 
appearance.  She  had  thrown  her  veil  back,  so  that  her 
white,  wasted  face  was  fully  seen. 

"  You've  noo  been  sick? "  he  said,  with  an  honest  con 
cern  in  his  tones. 

She  replied  with  a  brief  affirmative,  as  she  leaned  back 
with  a  sense  of  delightful  rest  among  the  cushions. 


104:  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Donald  attended  to  his  horses,  waited  another  moment  to 
be  sure  that  Ordotte  had  not  arrived  and  was  not  loitering 
somewhere,  and  then  drove  off,  turning  speedily  into  the 
shaded  fragrant  roadway  which  led  to  Kahandabed.  But 
he  could  not  keep  from  communicating  scraps  of  news  to 
the  young  lady.  Every  few  minutes  he  turned  to  tell  her 
something  of  the  doings  at  the  house  during  her  absence, 
and  at  length  he  imparted  that  which  immediately  aroused 
her  indifferent  attention. 

"  There's  anither  young  lassie  at  the  house  wi1  a  name 
like  your  ain,  an'  a  face  the  same  as  if  you  war  t\va  beans 
on  ane  stalk.  The  company  war  all  talking  about  it.  She 
came  wi'  friends  of  Mrs.  Doloran,  an'  they  say  she's  verra 
weel  to  do  in  the  matter  o'  the  miller.  Her  father  lives 
in  Barrytown,  but  he's  in  England  now." 

Ned  was  surprised ;  that  it  was  Edna  she  did  not 
doubt,  but  it  seemed  so  strange  that  she  should  come  to 
Rahandabed.  She  was  not  displeased,  however,  for  since 
their  last  parting  she  entertained  only  kindly  feelings  for 
her  cousin,  and  she  was  also  gratified  to  tind  that  she 
would  not  be  compelled  to  meet  Mr.  Edgar  ;  with  all  her 
generosity,  she  could  not  divest  herself  of  a  certain  fear 
and  dislike  of  that  gentleman. 

Donald,  instead  of  driving  all  the  way  up  the  main 
carriage-road,  turned  into  another  that  led  to  a  side  en 
trance  of  the  house. 

"  I  war  thinking  you'd  nae  want  to  meet  wi'  Mrs. 
Doloran.  and  the  rest  o'  them,  till  you'd  have  a  bite  and 
a  bit  o'  rest.  They'd  be  fashin'  ye  wi'  questions,  an'  ye 
noo  weel  able  to  answer  them.  So  I  drove  ye  here, 
instead  of  the  front,  that  ye  wouldn't  meet  wi'  any  of 
them.  Ye  can  bide  aweel  in  one  of  the  rooms;  an'  I'll 
get  some  of  the  lassies  to  bring  you  a  bite." 

Ned  was  grateful  for  this  thoughtful  kindness.  She 
felt  so  weak,  and  tired,  and  ill  able  to  meet  Mrs.  Doloran 
just  yet,  and  with  a  "  thank  you,"  the  sincerity  of  which 
went  to  honest  Donald's  heart,  she  accepted  his  offer. 

Macgilivray   had    hardly   exaggerated    when   he    said 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  105 

Mrs.  Doloran  had  gone  "  daft "  over  Ned's  protracted 
absence.  Her  captiousness,  which  had  delighted  in  mak 
ing  poor  Ned  its  victim,  having  now  no  especial  butt, 
vented  itself  sometimes  in  most  disagreeable  freaks,  often 
causing  her  to  break  into  disgraceful  tits  of  temper,  during 
which  any  servant  who  had  occasion  to  go  to  her 
presence,  and  who  was  luckless  enough  to  manifest  any 
awkwardness  in  the  discharge  of  duty,  was  likely  to  have 
the  most  convenient  object  hurled  at  his  or  her  head. 
Immediately  after,  however,  the  delinquent  was  sure  to 
be  presented  with  some  valuable  gift  as  a  token  of  for 
giveness  ;  so  the  domestics  scarcely  objected  to  this 
vulgar  mode  of  chastisement,  since  they  knew  that  it 
meant  in  every  instance  an  accession  to  their  purse.  The 
guests,  however,  were  a  little  tired  of  ebullitions  of  tem 
per,  which  were  as  likely  to  occur  in  the  middle  of  a 
most  enjoyable  repast  as  at  any  other  time,  and  though 
Mrs.  Doloran's  wealth  and  lavish  hospitality  covered  all 
her  sins,  still,  with  a  selfish  desire  for  their  own  comfort, 
they  devoutly  wished  for  Ned's  return,  that  the  eccen 
tric  widow  might  go  back  to  the  old  tenor  of  her  ways. 

So,  when  Ned  quietly  walked  into  the  summer  parlor, 
where  Mrs.  Doloran,  in  most  peevish  mood,  sat  with 
some  of  her  guests,  there  was  a  general  brightening  of 
countenances  and  a  chorus  of  glad  exclamations.  The 
widow,  in  her  delight,  rose  so  suddenly  as  to  throw  down 
her  chair,  and  to  throw  ic  with  such  force  that  it  fell 
against  a  tall,  slight,  heavy-faced  young  man  who  had 
been  standing  just  behind  her ;  the  blow  sent  him  to 
display  his  full  length  on  the  tapestried  floor.  Mrs.  Do 
loran,  however,  did  not  pause  to  look  behind  her,  nor 
Avas  she  deterred  by  the  burst  of  "  oil's  "  and  "  dear  meV 
which  followed  the  young  gentleman's  ludicrous  fall, 
accompanied  by  audible  attempts,  in  the  shape  of  sudden 
coughs,  to  suppress  laughter. 

She  took  her  wonted  strides  to  Ned,  and  having  folded 
that  young  lady  in  a  very  undesirable  embrace,  brought 
her  forward  to  the  company,  most  of  the  members  of 


106  A    FATAL   KE3EMBLANCE. 

which  by  this  time  had  gained  a  semblance  of  composure, 
even  to  the  fallen  young  man,  who  had  picked  himself 
up  and  retreated  blushiiigly  to  a  curtained  embrasure. 

Ned  looked  like  the  ghost  of  her  former  self,  and  now 
that  Mrs.  Doloran  had  time  to  notice  that  fact,  she  be 
gan  at  once : 

u  Have  you  been  to  the  spirit  land,  Ned,  or  have  those 
friends  of  yours  done  what  Ordotte  tells  us  they  do  in 
Ireland,  sometimes — kept  yourself  and  sent  us  your 
wraith  ? " 

"  I  have  been  quite  ill,"  was  the  gentle  response. 

But  Mrs.  Doloran  was  full  of  another  subject,  about 
which  she  was  more  anxious  to  inquire  than  to  ask  the 
particulars  of  Ned's  illness,  and  with  her  wonted  sudden 
transition  to  a  different  topic,  she  resumed  : 

"  We  have  a  young  lady  here  of  your  name,  Edna 
Edgar,  and  witli  the  strangest  resemblance  to  you,  only 
that  you  are  not  as  brilliant  nor  dashing.  She  told  us 
how  you  were  schoolmates,  and  that  it  was  by  accident 
you  came  to  have  the  same  name  and  such  a  marked  re 
semblance,  for  you  were  110  relation.  Now  you  tell  us 
all  about  it,  Ned." 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  what  you  have  already  heard," 
was  the  reply,  the  speaker  thinking  at  the  same  time 
how  fortunate  had  been  Donald's  thoughtfulness  in  her 
regard,  for  Mrs.  Doloran  evidently  did  not  dream  of 
asking  her  "  companion  "  if  she  needed  refreshment  or 
rest ;  possibly  she  thought  it  unnecessary,  as  it  was  al 
most  time  for  the  late  dinner. 

Disappointed  in  Ned's  answer,  she  said,  with  some  as 
perity^ 

"  It  is  very  improbable,  such  a  statement  as  that ; 
nature  doesn't  give  such  striking  resemblances  to  people 
without  a  cause.  Has  it  never  struck  you  that  you  might 
be  related  to  these  Edgars  in  some  way  ?  How  did  they 
get  to  know  you  in  the  first  place  ?  Here,  sit  down,  and 
fell  us  all  about  it,"  struck,  perhaps,  by  the  increasing 
pallor  of  Ned's  countenance.  The  girl  was  glad  to  sink 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  107 

into  a  chair,  and  she  answered  as  gently  as  she  could, 
feeling,  however,  a  little  of  her  old  indignation  at  such 
impertinent  probing  into  her  family  history. 

"  Mr.  Edgar  knew  my  parents  in  England,  being  per 
haps  drawn  the  more  to  them  because  of  the  similarity 
of  the  name ;  when  they  died,  he  was  prompted,  both 
by  his  pity  for  my  orphan  condition  and  by  the  singular 
resemblance  I  bore  to  his  own  child,  then  also  an  infant, 
to  take  the  interest  in  me  which  afterwards  culminated 
in  his  sending  me  to  school  with  his  own  daughter,  and 
giving  me  a  home  previous  to  my  coming  here.  Such 
are  the  facts,  Mrs.  Doloran,  told  to  me  by  those  whose 
veracity  I  know  too  well  to  doubt."  The  last  words 
were  spoken  with  a  decision  intended  to  silence  Mrs. 
Doloran  on  any  further  questioning;  but,  if  the  self- 
willed  widow  could  not  pursue  lur  inquiries,  she  could 
at  least  give  vent  to  her  thoughts  on  the  subject. 

"  It's  a  remarkable  case  of  coincidences,"  she  continued, 
"  and  the  most  wonderful  thing  about  it  is  the  way  you 
two  girls  just  accept  what  has  been  told  you.  That  Miss 
Edgar,  who  came  while  you  were  away,  doesn't  see  any 
thing  strange  in  the  coincidences  any  more  than  you  do." 

"  Why  should  she  ? "  broke  in  Ned  with  some  im 
patience,  "it  is  not  the  first  case  of  curious  resemblance 
between  people  who  are  no  relation — even,  history  records 
such  things." 

"  Ugh !  "  said  Mrs.  Doloran,  shrugging  her  shoulders 
with  an  affection  of  disgust,  "  you  are  too  practical ;  if 
you  had  a  bit  of  romance  in  your  soul  you  would  make  a 
clear  case  out  of  this.  But  I  wish  Miss  Edgar  would 
come  ;  I  want  to  compare  her  with  you — not  that  the  re 
semblance  will  be  such  a  marked  one,  now  you're  so  white, 
and  sick-looking — and  I  wish  Mascar  was  here,  not  that 
he's  much  good  in  this  case,  for  he  professes  to  believe 
implicitly  just  what  you  and  Miss  Edgar  say  about  your 
selves.  There  she  is  now—  "  happening  to  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  open  window,  just  beyond  which  appeared 


108  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Hiss  Edgar,  on  horseback,  attended  by  Mr.  Carnew,  also 
mounted. 

The  whole  company  rushed  to  the  veranda  to  see  the 
dismounting,  and  Mrs.  Doloran,  pulling  Ned  along  with 
her,  followed  in  their  wake. 

How  beautiful  Edna  looked ;  how  magnificently  she  sat 
her  horse,  and  with  what  charming  grace  she  just  touched 
the  palm  of  Alan's  hand,  extended  for  her  dainty  foot,  as 
she  dismounted.  He  must  have  whispered  some  compli 
ment,  for  her  face  and  neck  were  dyed  for  an  instant,  and 
the  confident  way  in  which  she  took  his  arm  to  ascend  to 
the  veranda  gave  evidence  that  his  attention  pleased  her. 

Ned,  as  she  saw  it  all,  experienced  a  sudden  and  most 
unaccountable  pang,  whether  of  jealousy  or  envy  of  her 
cousin,  or  sudden  love  for  handsome  Alan  Carnew,  she 
could  not  tell,  but  she  was  most  distressed  that  it  should 
be  so,  and  she  was  very  angry  with  herself  for  her 
weakness. 

Up  the  steps  came  Edna,  looking  like  some  beautiful 
picture — as,  with  one  hand,  she  held  her  whip  and  the 
train  of  her  riding  habit — and  so  full  of  bewitching 
animation,  that  it  was  little  wonder  Alan  Carnew  bent  to 
her  in  the  tender  way  he  did.  She  caught  sight  of  Ned's 
pale  face  over  Mrs.  Doloran's  shoulder,  and  dropping 
Carnew's  arm,  she  rushed  to  her  with  the  prettiest  grace 
imaginable. 

"  I  am-  - "  the  sweetest  of  kisses  on  one  cheek — "  so 
glad," — another  sweet  kiss  on  the  other  cheek — "to  see 
you," — a  third  sweet  kiss  on  Ned's  mouth — "  you  naughty 
dear;  never  to  tell  me  in  your  last  letter  that  you  were 
going  away  for  a  while,  and  I  took  the  trouble  to  write  to 
you  that  I  was  coining  here  on  a  visit,  which  letter,  of 
course,  owing  to  your  absence,  you  did  not  get.  And 
when  I  got  here,  no  one  could  tell  me  further  of  your 
journey,  than  it  was  to  see  some  one  in  some  part  of 
Albany.  O  you  darling!  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

All  of  which  gushing  effusion  looked  very  pretty,  and 
very  condescending  to  the  company,  for  they  remembered 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  109 

that  Ned  was  only  a  hireling  after  all,  beholden  to  Mr. 
Edgar's  bounty  for  her  education,  and  as  a  consequence 
of  these  things,  to  be  regarded  in  the  social  scale  very 
much  below  the  heiress,  Miss  Edgar. 

Upon  Ned  herself,  this  lavish  outburst,  although  it  was 
a  little  too  lavish  to  accord  with  her  shy,  sensitive  nature, 
had  the  effect  of  opening  her  heart  all  the  more  to  Edna. 
That  Edna  was  sincere  she  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt, 
and  Ned's  generous  soul  always  warmly  responded  to 
affection. 

They  looked  very  pretty  together,  being  the  same 
height  and  having  the  same  graceful  pliant  figures,  had 
Ned's  form  not  lost  its  wonted  curves  by  her  recent  illness. 
Mrs.  Doloran  was  observing  them  very  critically  even  to 
the  secret  amusement  of  the  company,  applying  her  eye 
glasses  which  she  wore  on  a  chain,  but  never  before  had 
been  known  to  use. 

"  When  Ned  gets  back  her  color  and  her  flesh,"  she 
said,  looking  over  her  glasses  instead  of  through  them, 
"there  will  not  be  much  difference  between  mem.  I 
wish  Mascar  was  here,  to  tell  me  what  he  would  think 


now." 


Alan  Carnew,  having  waited  until  the  first  gush  of  Miss 
Edna's  salutation  was  over,  advanced  to  give  his  own 
greeting  to  Ned. 

"Have  you  been  ill?"  he  asked,  struck  as  everybody 
else  had  been  by  her  appearance,  and  putting  info  his 
tones  so  deep  a  concern,  and  into  his  magnificent  eyes,  as 
he  looked  down  into  her  own,  such  an  earnest  solicitude, 
that  she  was  thrilled  through  and  through.  Tones  and 
look  were  in  her  dreams  all  that  night. 

Just  as  the  summons  to  dinner  sounded,  Ordotte  drove 
up  to  the  house  in  one  of  the  public  conveyances,  Mac- 
gilivray  having  taken  it  upon  himself  to  imagine  that,  as 
Ordotte  did  not  arrive  from  Albany  when  expected,  it 
was  most  improbable  that  he  should  come  from  any  other 
place,  at  least  on  that  day,  to  give  him  (Donald)  the 
trouble  of  harnessing  up  and  taking  the  carriage  again 


1 10  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

to  the  station.  And  Mrs.  Doloran,  who  sometimes  hap 
pened  to  see  just  what  would  be  most  desirable  to  pass 
without  her  observation,  saw  Ordotte  driving  up  in  the 
public  and  inelegant  vehicle.  Not  even  her  delight  at  see 
ing  him  could  make  her  impervious  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  arrived  in  such  a  manner,  when  her  orders  had  been 
for  Macgilivray  to  meet  every  train  up  or  down,  Ordotte 
having  written  that  he  might  go  to  New  York  from 
Albany,  but  that  in  any  case  he  would  return  that  after 
noon  or  the  next.  Nor  could  the  gentleman's  own 
assurance,  that  it  made  not  the  least  difference,  pacify  her. 
81  le  would  rebuke  the  offender  without  delay ;  and  while 
Ordotte  went  to  his  room  to  dress  for  dinner,  she  dis 
patched  a  summons  to  Macgilivray  to  come  at  once  to  the 
dining-room. 

"  You're  in  for  it,  Donald,"  said  the  servant  who 
brought  the  message ;  "  I  heard  her  talking  to  Mr.  Or 
dotte  about  your  not  taking  the  carriage  for  him." 

Donald  gave  a  dry  laugh. 

"  Weel,  weel !  I  was  a  match  for  me  leddy  before,  when 
she  wanted  the  coffee  carried  behind  her,  leek  a  gale  in  the 
wrake  of  a  ship — "  putting  forth  a  most  inappropriate 
simile — "  an'  maybe  I'll  noo  be  found  wantin'  this  time." 

And  quite  unabashed  he  took  his  way  to  the  resplendent 
dining-room.  The  company  were  all  seated,  and  the 
waiters  were  serving  the  first  course  when  Donald 
entered.  As  the  entrance  to  this  summer  dining-room — 
so  situated  that  the  windows  on  two  sides  of  it  looked  out 
on  a  spacious  veranda — was  broadly  open,  he  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  use  any  preliminary  courtesy  before 
entering,  but  took  up  immediately  a  position  near  the 
door,  facing  Mrs.  Doloran  who  sat  in  state  at  the  head  of 
the  table. 

"  Your  favor,  me  leddy,  and  what  would  you  leek  to 
say  to  Donald?" 

Mrs.  Doloran  suspended  her  gastronomic  operations, 
and  so  did  everybody  else,  for  the  appearance  of  the 
Scotchman  in  his  stable  dress,  and  the  odor  of  the  stable 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  Ill 

from  liis  clothes,  was  exceedingly  disagreeable  to  sensitive 
eyes  and  nostrils.  Handkerchiefs  were  taken  out  quickly 
and  applied.  Alan  Carnew  flushed  hotly,  and  looked 
disgusted  enough  to  leave  the  table,  but  Miss  Edgar,  who 
sat  next  to  him,  with  admirable  tact  sought  to  draw  his 
attention  from  the  threatened  scene. 

The  lady  of  the  house,  however,  was  no  respecter  of 
persons,  and  since  Donald  was  in  her  employment,  it  was 
her  right  to  rebuke  him  when  and  where  she  would, 
regardless  of  the  visionary  or  olfactory  organs  of  her 
guests. 

uYou  disobeyed  my  orders,"  she  said  in  her  most 
severe  tones,  and  shaking  at  Donald  with  every  word  the 
head  dress  of  gay -colored  feathers  that  surmounted  some 
lace  drapery  of  equally  gay  colored  hue.  "  I  told  you  to 
meet  with  the  carriage  to-day  the  train  from  Albany  and 
the  train  from  New  York,  in  order  to  drive  Mr.  Ordotte 
to  Rahandabed." 

"  Right,  me  leddy  ;  them  war  the  orders  you  gev  Don 
ald.  Always  wi'  your  leddyship's  favor,  ye  said  I  war 
to  meet  the  Albany  train.  I  done  so,  an'  fetched  up 
Miss  Edgar ;  an'  wi'  your  leddyship's  favor  still,  I  war 
iver  so  weel  minded  to  bide  by  your  leddyship's  instruc 
tions  as  to  take  out  the  beasties  agen,  but  it  war  noo  in 
me  power." 

With  every  word,  Donald  had  advanced  to  Mrs.  Dolo- 
ran,  the  stable  odor  from  his  clothes  causing  a  closer 
application  of  the  scented  handkerchiefs  by  those  lie 
passed,  and — as  the  shrewd  Scotchman  intended  it  should 
do — now  pouring  full  into  Mrs.  Doloran  s  face. 

But  the  lady  could  endure  that — she  scorned  even  to 
apply  her  handkerchief,  and  she  looked  with  a  little 
contempt  about  the  table  on  those  who  were  making  such 
conspicuous  use  of  their  gossamers. 

k'What  do  you  mean?"  she  said,  very  severely  still, 
and  with  a  toss  of  her  head  that  set  her  feathers  into  a 
ludicrous  quiver. 

"Why,  you  see,  me  leddy,  old  Mollie  got  a  sudden 


112  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

colic,  and  her  mate,  brown  Jim,  war  threatened  wi'  tlie 
spavin,  an — 

"  There  were  other  horses  on  the  place,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Doloran,  angrily.  "  Rahandabed  does  not  depend 
on  the  two  you  mention." 

"Right,  me  leddy,"  answered  the  Scotchman,  with 
the  stolid  earnestness  of  one  before  a  court  of  justice, 
"that  war  so,  but  the  other  likely  team  war  out  wi'  Mr. 
Breakbelly."  The  name  was  Brekbellew,  but  from  the 
first,  Donald  had  humorously  twisted  it  into  Breakbelly, 
and  as  the  owner  of  the  luckless  name  was  present  at  the 
table,  and  was  the  same  whom  Mrs.  Doloran's  chair  had 
prostrated  that  afternoon,  handkerchiefs  had  to  be  taken 
from  noses  and  crammed  into  mouths  to  prevent  a  most 
impolite  explosion  of  mirth.  Even  the  unfortunate  gen 
tleman  had  a  sort  of  ghastly  smile  upon  his  lips. 

Mrs.  Doloran  could  endure  strongly  unpleasant  odors, 
but  it  was  one  of  her  whimsical  hobbies  to  tolerate  no 
language  that  bordered  on  the  vulgar.  She  rose  from 
her  chair,  and  while  her  feathers  kept  time  in  most  tragic 
vibration  to  every  indignant  word,  she  waived  Donald 
away,  and  said  : 

"  Go,  vulgar  man ;  go  back  to  your  own  proper 
place." 

"  Ay,"  said  Donald,  turning  right  about,  "  an'  why  did 
ye  summon  me  from  me  ain  proper  place  ? " 

And  he  walked  as  soberly  out  as  if  he  was  not  keenly 
conscious  that  he  had  given  to  the  company,  when  they 
should  be  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  Sirs.  Doloran,  an 
occasion  for  as  hearty  a  laugh  as  ever  had  emanated 
from  any  (especially  the  masculine  portion)  of  her 


guests. 


XXVI. 


Ordotte  met  Miss  Ned  Edgar — in  search  of  whom  to 
Albany,  being  sent  by  Mrs.  Doloran,  he  had  been  nothing 
loth  to  go — with  an  expression  of  ludicrously  affected 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  113 

surprise.  He  even  assumed  a  ridiculous  attitude,  and  said, 
with  an  imitation  of  absurd  rant : 

"My  dear  young  lady!  where  have  you  been?  I 
scoured  nearly  all  the  haunts  of  civilization  in  Albany 
without  obtaining  news  of  you,  and  as  a  last  and  desperate 
resource  I  thought  of  securing  the  services  of  a  balloon 
that  I  might  hover  over  chimney  tops  in  order  to  spy  you 
by  some  quiet  hearthstone.  But,  as  it  was  summer,  my 
aerial  flight  would  have  been  in  vain — you  would  hardly 
have  been  found  by  a  hearthstone." 

At  which  nonsensical  speech  Ned  laughed,  as  did  every 
body  else,  but  she  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  tell  the 
precise  locality  of  her  sojourn  in  Albany,  and  so  she  was 
silent. 

Ordotte  resumed : 

"  Having  failed  so  ignominiously  to  find  you,  I  could 
not  return  immediately  to  Rahandabed.  I  visited  New 
York  first,  to  restore  my  courage." 

From  the  manner  in  which  he  lowered  his  voice,  there 
might  seem  to  be  some  strange  significance  in  his  words, 
but  if  there  was,  it  passed  unnoticed. 

Life  now  at  Rahandabed  was  exceedingly  pleasant, 
even  for  Ned,  Mrs.  Doloran's  exactions  being  rendered 
lighter  by  Edna's  good-natured  response  to  them,  as  if  she 
would  save  the  "  companion,"  and  by  Carnew's  frequent 
kindly  interference,  to  spare  Ned  the  mortifications  which 
had  marked  her  earlier  stay  in  the  house. 

Whatever  might  be  Edna's  motive  in  being  thus 
amiable,  she  carried  that  quality  to  such  a  degree  that 
Ned's  warmest  affection  was  won  for  her,  and  she  hailed 
the  private  tetedrtetes  which  the  two  occasionally  had, 
with  an  intense  delight,  Miss  Edgar,  with  remarkable 
shrewdness,  was  careful  to  say  nothing  in  those  seeming 
confidences  that  could  wound  Ned's  nice  sense  of  truth 
fulness,  nor  shock  any  of  her  rigid  ideas  of  propriety. 
The  communications  were  very  innocent,  detailing  only 
such  facts  as  that,  when  her  papa  took  her  and  Mrs. 
Stafford  to  New  York  the  previous  winter,  she  made  so 


114  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

many  pleasant  acquaintances,  and  enjoyed  the  city  life  so 
much,  that  he,  to  please  her,  deferred  his  plan  of  opening 
the  Barrytown  house  to  company,  and  permitted  her  to 
remain  in  the  metropolis,  of  course  remaining  with  her 
and  escorting  her  everywhere. 

"  Then,"  the  sweet,  confiding  tones  continued,  "  I  in 
duced  papa  to  let  me  have  Annie  Mackay  for  my  maid. 
You  remember  Annie,  Ned ;  she  was  Dick's  only  sister, 
that  handsome  Dick  whom  papa  could  not  bear,  and  who 
has  gone  away  to  be  a  painter  or  a  writer  or  to  embrace 
some  of  the  lazy  professions,  as  papa  calls  them  ;  well,  she 
came  to  me,  and  she  was  so  gentle  and  so  sweet  that  I 
quite  loved  her. 

"  Then  papa  got  news  from  England — sudden  news — 
about  a  brother  of  his  that  he  had  thought  dead ;  it  ex 
cited  him  very  much.  He  decided  to  start  in  the  next 
steamer  for  England,  and  wanted  me  to  accompany  him. 
Think  of  it ;  such  a  fatiguing  voyage  on  so  short  a  notice — 
it  was  out  of  the  question.  So  he  went  without  me. 
Immediately  after,  I  received  an  invitation  to  visit  some 
of  my  newly  made  friends  who  lived  on  Staten  Island, 
and  as  Mrs.  Stafford,  whom  papa  insisted  on  retaining 
with  us  everywhere,  was  somewhat  indisposed,  I  induced 
her  to  remain  with  her  maid  in  the  hotel,  while  I  went 
to  visit  for  a  few  weeks  my  Staten  Island  friends.  Annie 
Mackay,  my  maid,  accompanied  me ;  that  was  in  the  be 
ginning  of  last  June,  and  she  became  so  ill  that  I  was 
obliged  to  limit  my  stay  to  a  month.  We  rejoined  Mrs. 
Stafford,  and  she,  kind  soul,  was  so  concerned  about  the 
poor  girl  that  at  my  suggestion  she  accompanied  her 
home,  and  permitted  me  to  accept  the  invitation  of  some 
friends  to  Rahandabed.  So  I  only  arrived  here  a  few 
days  before  your  own  return  from  Albany.  Papa  has 
written  that  he  will  be  home  in  a  couple  of  months. 
Mrs.  Doloran  made  me  write  in  reply  that  he  must  come 
here,  as  she  will  not  suffer  me  to  leave  her  for  some  time, 
and  I  confess,  Ned,  that  I  enjoy  it  here  very  much." 

Ned  fancied  that  she  knew  why  Edna  enjoyed  it  very 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  115 

much ;  Alan  Carnew's  rather  marked  attentions  to  her 
were  no  doubt  the  source  of  the  enjoyment,  and  her  own 
heart  suffered  again  one  of  its  little  pangs  that  made  her 
almost  despise  herself. 

Of  such  tenor  were  Miss  Edgar's  artless  communica 
tions,  and  as  Ned  listened  to  her,  and  looked  at  the  be 
witching  play  of  features  that  were  well-nigh  perfect  in 
their  beauty,  she  did  not  wonder  that  Carnew  seemed  to 
be  caught  in  the  toils.  Then  Edna  was  evidently  110  flirt, 
for,  though  every  gentleman  in  the  house  looked  and 
acted  as  if  he  would  have  given  his  dearest  possession  for 
a  smile  from  her  lips,  or  a  favor  from  her  hand,  and  poor 
Brekbellew  was  like  a  faithful  cur  in  his  attentions,  she 
treated  all  with  the  same  eminently  proper  lady-like 
courtesy,  but  nothing  more.  On  occasions  even  when 
remarks  were  made  intended  to  evoke  laughter  at  Brek- 
bellew's  ludicrous  devotedness,  she,  instead  of  taking  part 
in  the  mirth,  dropped  in  her  graceful  way  some  very 
pretty  pitying  expression  that  won,  as  she  felt  it  would 
do,  Alan  Carnew's  approving  and  admiring  look. 

With  that  tact  and  shrewdness  that  had  showed  them 
selves  in  her  very  earliest  years,  she  had  read  Carnew's 
character,  and  all  her  amiability  to  Ned,  and  all  her 
avoidance  of  flirtation,  and  all  her  reluctance  to  make 
sport  of  poor,  sheepish,  but  wealthy  Brekbellew,  arose 
from  the  fact  that  she  knew  such  a  course  of  acting  would 
please  Alan  Carnew.  With  her  overweening,  though 
well-concealed  vanity,  she  yearned  to  have  at  her  feet  this 
handsome  scholarly  gentleman,  even  though  a  secret  tie 
that  she  dared  not  acknowledge,  and  could  not  repudiate, 
must  prevent  upon  her  part  any  reciprocation  of  his 
tender  feelings. 

There  was  one  person  in  the  house  from  whom  she  un 
accountably  shrank — Mascar  Ordotte.  Whether  it  was  that 
his  shrivelled,  tawny  face,  rendered  so  by  his  long  sojourn 
under  a  fierce  Indian  sun,  repelled  her,  or  the  way  that  he 
had  of  looking  through  her  with  his  little  keen  black  eyes, 
as  if  he  doubted  every  word  she  said,  or  was  inwardly 


116  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

sneering  at  her  gracious  manner,  made  her  feel  very  un 
comfortable,  certain  it  was  that  she  avoided  him  whenever 
she  could. 

And  our  poor  Ned  !  how  was  she  disciplining  this  un 
bidden  and  unwished  for  regard  on  her  part  for  Alan 
Carnew  ?  A  regard  now  so  strong  that  she  thrilled  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  and  flushed  beneatli  the  glance  of  his 
eye  ;  but  she  was  certain  that  he  loved  Edna,  and  know 
ing  that,  it  became  her  duty  to  restrain  herself  by  all  the 
stern  measures  in  her  power.  So  she  resolved  to  avoid 
meeting  his  eyes,  and  when  he  spoke,  and  was  not  address 
ing  her,  to  fix  her  attention  determinedly  upon  something 
else ;  a  resolution  that  was  not  so  difficult  regarding  her 
looking  at  him,  but  which  was  extremely  difficult  in  the 
part  that  referred  to  his  speech.  His  voice  so  deep  and 
firm,  and  so  harmoniously  changing  its  tones  to  suit  his 
topics,  thrilled  her  through  and  through,  and,  as  it  were, 
despite  every  effort  chained  her  attention  to  it. 

After  a  little,  Carnew  observed  how  Ned's  eyes  steadily 
refused  to  meet  his  own ;  and  amused  and  interested,  as 
well  as  wondering  what  could  be  the  cause,  he  as  steadily 
endeavored  to  make  them  turn  upon  him.  But  they 
flashed  over  him,  below  him,  beside  him,  everywhere  save 
directly  at  him,  and  while  Edna's  eyes  at  every  oppor 
tunity  were  looking  into  his  with  most  bewitching 
earnestness,  Ned's  were  either  cast  modestly  down  or 
fixed  at  some  point  beyond  him.  lie  became  piqued  at 
last,  not  understanding  sufficient  of  the  feminine  heart  to 
know  that  this  extraordinary  manner  was  really  a  delicate 
compliment  to  his  power,  and  he  refrained  from  noticing 
her  save  when  it  became  absolutely  necessary. 

Ned  felt  the  change  most  keenly,  but  she  had  too  much 
womanhood  to  yield  to  her  feelings.  She  went  bravely 
about  her  duties,  thinking  that  Alan  would  marry  Edna  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Edgar  returned,  and  then  her  attachment, 
which  cost  her  so  much  pain  now,  having  its  object  re 
moved — for  certainly  Mr.  Carnew  and  his  bride  would 
not  continue  to  live  at  Ilahandabed — would  speedily  die. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  117 

Such  was  the  future  pictured  by  our  heroine  for  Alan 
Carnew,  while  he  at  the  same  time  held  a  struggle  with 
himself  to  maintain  toward  her  the  cold  demeanor  he  had 
assumed.  Her  very  reserve  but  increased  his  regard, 
and  he  found  himself  frequently  wondering  whether  that 
Mr.  Dutton  was  really  her  lover ;  and  yet  every  time  he 
so  wondered  he  called  himself  a  fool  for  thinking  in 
the  least  about  anything  pertaining  to  her. 

November  had  come  again,  and  Rahandabed,  with  its 
color-changing  and  falling  leaves,  its  great  trees  swaying 
with  half-bare  branches  in  the  sighing  winds,  and  its 
few  last  and  fast-fading  blossoms  had  a  melancholy  beauty 
particularly  pleasing  to  Ned.  She  delighted  in  taking 
long,  solitary  \valks,  whenever  .Mrs.  Doloran  chose  to 
spare  her,  sometimes  extending  her  excursions  to  roman 
tic  spots  beyond  Rahandabed.  One  of  these  was  an  old, 
deserted,  and  half-ruined  mill,  beneath  which  a  clear 
stream  still  wended  its  way,  and  within  which  some 
lover  of  the  picturesque  had  placed  a  rustic  seat.  A  bridge, 
partly  new  from  recent  repairs,  led  to  the  mill  from  one 
side,  though  to  a  climber  the  mill  was  easily  accessible 
from  the  opposite  side.  The  country  boys  sometimes 
climbed  from  that  side  in  through  the  old,  ruined  windows, 
and  played  their  games  on  the  mouldy  floor.  The  rustic 
seat  in  the  mill  was  a  favorite  haunt  of  Ned's,  the  whole 
place  was  so  deserted  every  time  she  had  gone  there  that 
she  felt  quite  sure  of  the  seclusion  she  desired  ;  then  its 
romantic  and  half-weird  surroundings  charmed  her,  and, 
added  to  the  pleasant  sound  of  the  water  going  gently 
over  the  dam,  aiforded  her  keen  delight. 

On  this  November  afternoon,  she  took  her  way  to  the 
spot,  regretting  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  for  darkness  set 
in  so  speedily  on  these  short  autumn  days.  However,  she 
would  have  a  few  minutes  to  spend  in  her  favorite  haunt, 
and  she  hurried  on,  drawing  a  gratified  breath  when  at 
length  she  was  esconced  in  her  nook,  looking  out  from 
the  old  mill-walls  at  the  weird  scene  before  her,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  monotonous  plashing  of  the  miniature  waterfall. 


118  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Her  thoughts  went  back  to  her  childhood  and  to  her 
talks  to  the  trees,  and  though  the  darkness  began  to  creep 
apace,  she  still  lingered,  lost  in  her  retrospection.  Sud 
denly  she  heard  the  sound  of  indistinct  voices  from  the 
side  of  the  mill  accessible  only  to  climbers,  and  she  started 
up  in  some  affright.  But  there  was  no  other  sound,  only 
those  indistinct  tones  floating  up,  as  if  the  speakers 
stood  directly  under  one  of  the  ruined  windows. 

Impelled  by  that  curiosity  which  is  sometimes  ex 
perienced  by  the  least  curious  of  us,  Ned,  instead  of  im 
mediately  departing,  as  she  had  arisen  to  do,  waited.  One 
of  the  voices  was  suddenly  raised,  and  it  was  pitched  in 
such  a  key  that  every  word  was  borne  to  Ned. 

"  No  love  is  deep  that  will  not  make  every  sacrifice  ; 
have  I  not  given  you  proofs  enough  in  all  the  risks  I  have 
run  ?  What  would  you  have  ?  An  open  acknowledg 
ment?  It  would  be  my  ruin,  and  the  moment  that  you 
oblige  me  to  make  such,  I,  rather  than  endure,  the  anger 
and  obloquy  that  must  follow,  shall  die  by  my  own  hand." 

To  Ned's  horror  she  recognized  Edna's  voice,  and,  with 
out  waiting  to  hear  further,  she  rushed  from  the  mill,  in 
tending  to  confront  her  cousin  and  let  her  know  what  she 
had  heard,  and  how  she  had  heard  it.  She  did  not  stop 
to  question  the  identity  of  the  party,  whether  male  or 
female,  to  whom  Edna  was  addressing  such  strange  and 
shocking  words  ;  she  only  felt  that  the  speech  must  be  due 
to  some  imprudence,  and  that  it  was  her  duty  to  tell  that 
she  had  heard  it.  But  the  noise  of  her  footsteps  on  the 
floor  of  the  mill  and  across  the  bridge  which  she  was 
obliged  to  pass  in  order  to  get  round  to  the  other 
side,  where  were  the  strange  parties,  alarmed  the  latter, 
and  they  took  to  flight,  for  which  they  had  ample 
time,  Ned  requiring  two  or  three  minutes  to  cross  the 
bridge  and  go  up  the  road  far  enough  to  effect  a  passage 
to  the  other  side  of  the  mill.  When  she  arrived  on 
the  spot,  it  was  deserted,  and  as  it  was  quite  dark,  witli 
not  even  a  glimmer  from  a  star,  it  was  fruitless  to 
seek  to  discover  what  direction  the  mysterious  parties 


A   FATAL    EKSKMBLANCE.  119 

had  taken.  But  Ned  called  her  cousin's  name  aloud, 
thinking  she  must  be  hiding  somewhere  near,  and  that  she 
would  be  assured  by  the  sound  of  her  voice.  There  was 
no  response  ;  and  growing  a  little  timid  herself  in  the  now 
almost  perfectly  black  solitude,  she  hurriedly  retraced 
her  steps,  and  pursued  her  way  to  Kalian  dabed.  What 
was  her  astonishment  to  see  in  one  of  the  brilliantly  lighted 
parlors  that  she  passed.  Miss  Edgar,  sitting  calm  and  com 
posed,  with  not  the  slightest  evidence  of  having  been 
so  recently  out  of  the  houss  ;  her  hair  was  not  even  ruffled, 
as  the  wind  had  ruffled  Ned's,  and  she  was  talking  to  Brek- 
bellew,  who  hung  over  her  chair,  with  that  sweet  gracious- 
ness  that  was  no  more  than  she  bestowed  upon  every  one, 
but  that  kept  him,  poor  sheep  that  he  was,  in  a  constant 
fever  of  love. 

Ned  could  not  understand  it ;  in  the  first  place,  unless 
by  extraordinary  rapidity,  Edna  would  scarcely  have  had 
time  to  return  to  the  house,  and  then  the  quickness  of  her 
return  must  surely  preclude  such  absolute  composure  as 
she  had  witnessed.  Could  it  be  that  she  was  mistaken  ; 
that  the  voice  she  would  have  sworn  was  Edna's,  was  only 
made  such  by  her  imagination  ?  She  knew  not  what  to 
think,  and  lost  in  a  maze  of  doubt,  she  watched  her  cousin 
all  the  evening ;  but  Edna  was  the  same  beautiful,  brilliant 
girl,  with  not  the  slightest  evidence  about  her  of  any 
secret  imprudence. 

And  she  seemed  to  be  especially  courted  that  night,  as 
if  her  charms  had  grown  more  attractive,  even  Carnew 
leading  her  again  and  again  to  the  piano,  where  her 
magnificent  voice  rang  out  with  exquisite  force  and 
sweetness. 

Mrs.  Dolorah  said,  in  one  of  the  pauses  between  the 
music : 

''.That  creature  seems  to  have  all  the  gifts  under  the 
sun.  It  is  no  wonder  the  men  are  half -mad  about  her.  I 
declare  she  has  turned  my  head ;  and  there's  Alan,  who's 
been  holding  his  heart  against  every  sortie  for  the  last  six 


120  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

years,  rea'dy  now  to  yield  everything  to  her.  The  lad  's 
gone,  as  anybody  can  see  by  looking  at  him." 

Ned  forgot  herself  and  looked  at  him,  and  judging  by 
the  expression  of  his  face  as  he  bent  to  Edna  to  whisper 
the  name  of  the  song  he  wanted  next,  Mrs.  Doloran  was 
quite  right. 

That  eccentric  lady  continued  : 

"  Matters  can  be  settled  very  speedily  as  Mr.  Edgar  has 
written  to  say  that  he  is  coming  home  much  sooner  than 
he  expected  to  do ;  that  we  may  expect  him  about  three 
weeks  from  to-day ;  his  letter  came  this  afternoon,  and 
Edna  wanted  to  show  it  to  you,  Ned,"  turning  to  her 
companion,  "  but  you  were  out  on  one  of  your  walks." 

Here  was  another  incident  to  confound  her  conviction 
that  it  was  Edna's  voice  she  had  heard  near  the  mill; 
surely,  if  her  cousin  were  in  the  house  looking  for  her  in 
order  to  show  her  father's  letter,  she  could  not  be  at  the 
same  time  in  the  spot  where  Ned  was  so  sure  she  had 
heard  her  speak. 


XXYII. 


Mrs.  Doloran  was  seized  with  a  whim  to  give  Mr.  Edgar 
a  gorgeous  reception  on  his  arrival,  and  though  his 
daughter,  whose  cultivated  taste  shrank  from  the  vulgar 
display  that  passed  for  elegance  and  brilliancy  with  the 
eccentric  lady,  remonstrated  with  her,  and  assured  her 
that  her  father  was  a  man  of  very  quiet,  simple  tastes, 
Mrs.  Doloran  would  have  her  wray.  As  Mr.  Edgar  had 
named  the  very  day  of  his  expected  arrival  in  New  York, 
and  had  said  that  he  would  proceed  immediately  to  Ra- 
handabed,  it  was  not  difficult  to  calculate  almost  the 
precise  hour  of  his  coming.  Thus  preparations  were 
begun  that  turned  the  spacious  winter  drawing-room  into 
a  sort  of  outre  apartment  from  the  quantity  and  quality 
and  striking  color  of  the  velvet  hangings  with  which  the 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  121 

walls  were  dressed,  to  the  total  exclusion  of  the  costly 
pictures  that  had  previously  adorned  them.  Whence  she 
derived  her  odd  and  execrable  taste  no  one  could  con 
ceive,  and  while  everybody  laughed  secretly,  no  one  save 
Alan  and  Edna  were  bold  enough  to  remonstrate,  or  to 
condemn.  But  she  was  not  to  be  restrained  by  either 
remonstrance  or  condemnation,  and  every  day  found  her 
superintending  something  more  and  more  grotesque. 
Her  absurdity  reached  its  height  when  she  ordered  a  hand 
some  dais  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  drawing-room. 

"  What  for  ? "  asked  Alan  in  angry  amazement. 

"To  receive  my  guest,  sir,"  was  the  haughtily  given 
answer. 

"  Do  you  propose  to  put  him  and  yourself  on  exhibition, 
then  ?  "  spoken  with  an  angry  scorn  that  awed  for  a  second 
even  his  indomitable  aunt ;  but  it  was  only  for  a  second  : 
her  will  was  too  strong  to  be  put  down  by  anything  short 
of  death,  or  perhaps  poverty. 

"  I  propose  to  do  just  as  I  like,  sir,  with  my  guest,  and 
with  everything  else  that  is  mine.  Is  not  that  the  proper 
womanly  spirit,  Mr.  Brekbellew  ? "  turning  to  that  poor, 
timid  gentleman  who,  whenever  he  could  not  be  by  Edna's 
side,  was  the  constant  attendant  of  Mrs.  Doloran. 

And  Brekbellew  answered  with  becoming  meekness: 

"Yes,  ma'am:  an  eminently  proper  spirit ;"  at  which 
Carnew,  too  angry  to  speak  further,  turned  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  pair. 

Of  course,  Ordotte  was  constantly  appealed  to,  as  the 
preparations  progressed,  and  actuated  by  the  exceeding 
amusement  the  whole  affair  afforded  him,  he  frequently 
gave  such  a  suggestion  as  turned  into  newer  and  stranger 
extravagance  Mrs.  Doloran's  own  preconceived  whim. 

The  eccentric  lady  was  quite  in  her  element;  her  days 
rose  upon  work  in  which  she  delighted,  and  which  was 
an  effectual  bar  to  those  fitful  moods  of  temper  that  made 
her  a  burden  to  herself,  and  an  annoyance  to  those  about 
her.  Even  the  servants  basked  in  her  good  humor,  not 
being  in  their  wonted  constant  fear  of  a  sudden  and 


122  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

violent  contact  with  the  article  most  convenient  to  Mrs. 
Doloran's  hand,  and  Macgilivray  said  in  his  dry  way  : 

"  It's  the  line  speerit  me  leddy's  in  just  now  ;  but  bide 
aweel,  and  see  how  the  auld  lioniie  '11  make  her  her  ain 
self  again." 

Ordotte  was  bidden  to  have  ready  his  most  exciting 
Indian  stories,  the  lady  saying : 

"  I  have  no  doubt  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Edgar's  wide 
travels  and  cultivated  tastes  will  enjoy  the  terrible  and 
the  mysterious  in  nature,  as  you  depict  it,  Mascar,  in  your 
dreadful  tales." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  his  enjoyment  of  my  Indian 
stories,"  Mascar  repeated,  with  an  emphasis  on  the  word 
my,  and  a  singular  intonation  of  the  other  words,  all  of 
which,  however,  owing  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  preoccupation 
with  her  own  excited  thoughts,  were  lost  upon  her. 

The  preparations  extended  even  to  arrangements  for 
illuminating  the  grounds,  and  as  the  season  was  exception 
ally  fine,  Mrs.  Doloran's  anticipations  were  very  bright. 

Carnew  could  hardly  restrain  his  anger  and  disgust. 

"  Your  father,"  he  said  to  Edna  the  afternoon  before 
the  expected  arrival,  when  they  were  taking  a  stroll  to 
gether  through  the  grounds,  "  will  think  we  are  all  fools 
here." 

"  No,"  she  said  in  her  most  bewitching  way,  "  my  father 
will  understand  the  case  almost  immediately,  and  while 
he  may  be  much  amused  with  your  good  aunt,  he  will 
draw  the  line  between  her  and  those  who  in  sheer  kind 
ness  pander  to  her  whims ;  all  that  he  does  not  understand 
I  shall  make  clear  to  him." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  his  face  slightly  flushing. 

Her  heart  was  beating  with  painful  rapidity  ;  what  was 
this  concern  that  he  expressed  about  her  father's  opinion 
but  a  sign  of  his  regard  for  herself,  and,  if  so,  might  she 
not  hope  that  one  day  this  regard  would  be  all  that  hers 
was  now  for  him  ?  Kay ;  might  she  not  even  now  be 
assured  that  his  affections  were  her  own  ?  True,  no  word 
had  been  spoken,  but  all  the  little  signs  by  which  a  sus- 


A    FATAL    KKSKMBLLNCE.  123 

ceptible  woman  judges  of  the  regard  she  may  have  in 
spired,  were  time  and  again  betrayed.  And  how  in  her 
heart  she  cursed  and  loathed  the  secret  folly  that  must 
prevent  her  acceptance  of  his  hand  should  he  offer  it. 

In  the  midst  of  her  burning  thoughts  she  glanced  at 
him,  but  he  was  not  looking  at  her ;  indeed,  he  seemed 
to  be  in  some  far  distant  reflection.  Secretly  piqued,  she 
put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  know  that,  glad  as  I  shall  be  to  see  my  father, 
I  am  also  a  little  sorry  at  his  coming." 

"  Why  ?  "  spoken  without  looking  at  her. 

"  Because  he  will  be  anxious  to  return  to  Weewald 
Place,  and  I  shall  have  to  accompany  him." 

Carnew  looked  at  her  then ;  a  look  which  frightened 
her  a  little  by  its  intense  piercing  earnestness,  and  she 
hastened  to  add : 

"  This  place  with  its  endless  varieties  and  its  gay  com 
pany  is  in  such  contrast  to  my  lonely  life  at  home.  Do 
you  wonder  that  I  dislike  to  leave  it  ? " 

She  had  such  a  wonderfully  child-like,  confiding  way 
of  putting  the  question,  and  she  raised  such  trusting,  in 
nocent  eyes  to  his,  that  he  was  won,  as  he  had  been  many 
a  time  before,  by  the  spell  of  her  beauty  and  her  artless 
manner.  She  saw  her  advantage,  and  she  pursued  it. 

"  And  I  have  learned  so  many  life-long  lessons  here." 

"What  are  they  ?  " — he  was  suddenly  interested. 

"  One,  that  true  goodness  of  character  triumphs  over 
every  ill.  I  have  reference  now  to  your  aunt's  compan 
ion,  and  my  dearest  friend,  Ned  Edgar.  Knowing,  as  I 
am  aware  you  do,  that  she  could  have  had  a  home  always 
with  us,  have  you  never  wondered  that  she  should  leave 
it  to  become  a  sort  of  servant  ? " 

"  Yes,  at  first  I  did  wonder  a  little,  but  I  am  not  wont 
to  concern  myself  about  other  people's  business." 

"  Her  leaving  it  was  a  surprise  to  me,  the  more  so  that 
she  never  by  a  word  hinted  at  the  cause  ;  and  it  was  only 
when  my  father  himself  asked  me  if  I  knew  anything  about 
her  secret  acquaintance  with  the  son  of  a  gardener  on  our 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

place,  a  Dick  Mackay,  and  expressed  his  disapprobation  of 
lier  conduct,  that  I  began  to  think  his  manner  to  her  might 
have  driven  her  from  us.  As  she  was  so  reticent,  I  have 
never  had  courage  to  mention  the  matter  to  her,  but, 
studying  her  as  I  have  done  since  I  have  been  here,  and 
being  brought  into  daily  contact  with  her  unselfish  good 
ness,  I  believe  that  which  my  father  said  of  her  to  be 
false.  Some  one  must  have  misled  him,  and  I  only  fear 
that  his  manner  to  her  when  he  meets  her  here  will  be  as 
cold  as  it  was  during  the  last  davs  of  her  stay  in  Weewald 
Place." 

She  sighed  most  feelingly,  and  looked  down  at  the 
pretty  white  hand  resting  upon  his  arm. 

"  Tell  me  another  of  the  lessons  you  have  learned,"  he 
said,  too  much  charmed  with  his  companion  just  then  to 
speculate  upon  what  she  had  so  unnecessarily  told  of  her 
cousin. 

"  The  other  lesson,"  she  spoke  with  some  hesitation,  as 
if  not  certain  of  the  propriety  of  her  communication,  "is 
that  a  woman's  heart  undisciplined  is  the  scourge  of 
many." 

"  You  have  reference  to  my  aunt,"  he  said  dryly, 
"  but  give  me  your  third  lesson,  if  you  have  learned  so 
many." 

"  The  third,"  putting  both  her  hands  upon  his  arm, 
"  is  that  he  who  judges,  but  reserves  his  opinion,  who 
loves,  but  yields  not  to  his  attachment,  is  wiser  in  his 
generation  than  the  fools  who  make  honest  speech  of  all 
they  know,  and  gushing  revelation  of  all  they  feel." 

She  had  spoken  wildly  and  more  frankly  than  she  had 
intended  to  do,  impelled  by  a  certain  recklessness  arising 
from  the  fact  that  her  own  ardent  wish  could  never  be 
fulfilled. 

And  Carnew  blushed  as  hotly  as  any  girl  might  have 
done.  Had  she  penetrated  his  secret  attachment  to  Ned  ? 
That  attachment  to  which  he  struggled  so  hard  not  to 
yield  and  which,  having  heard  what  he  did  about  the 
gardener's  son,  even  though  the  story  were  not  true, 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  125 

must  now  speedily  die.  Such  was  the  thought  that  ani 
mated  him,  and  made  his  voice  a  little  tremulous  as  he 
asked : 

"  Who  taught  you  the  last  lesson  ?  " 

The  answer  came  in  a  whisper : 

"  You." 

~No  more  was  said  until  they  reached  the  lawn  where 
the  whole  gay  company  was  assembled  to  watch  the  com 
pletion  of  the  preparations  for  illumination.  They  stood, 
also,  ostensibly  to  watch,  but  there  was  on  the  part  of 
each  a  desire  to  compose  hot  and  unpleasant  thoughts. 
Ned  stood  near  them,  pleasantly  interested,  and  Carnew, 
when  he  could  do  so  unobserved,  studied  her  face.  It 
attracted  him  despite  himself,  though  he  linked  with  it 
the  unfavorable  story  which  Edna  had  told  him,  and  lie 
thought  that  Ned's  own  marked  reserve  toward  him 
since  her  return  from  Albany  might  be  even  an  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  that  story;  if  her  troth  was  plighted  to 
this  gardener's  son,  she  might  deem  it  her  duty  to  be 
thus  excessively  modest,  and  was  such  the  case,  her  mod 
esty  was  certainly  to  be  commended.  But  strange 
thoughts  flashed  through  his  mind :  what  if  her  visit 
to  Albany  during  all  those  weeks  had  anything  to  do 
with  this  Mackay?  And  did  Dykard  Dutton,  whom  Car- 
new  had  long  since  regarded  as  Ned's  suitor,  know  all 
about  it,  and  was  he  hurt  by  it  ?  But  at  this  stage  of  his 
uncontrolled  thoughts,  the  young  man  became  suddenly 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  he  turned  resolutely  away  to 
give  all  his  attention  to  some  arrangement  of  colored 
lights  that  Mrs.  Doloran  was  insisting  was  quite  wrong. 
A  little  commotion  in  the  vicinity  of  Ned  drew  his  at 
tention  to  her  again ;  the  commotion  was  made  by  a 
man  in  a  laborer's  dress  approaching  her  with  a  note 
which  he  said  was  for  Miss  Ned  Edgar.  She  took  it  in 
dumb  surprise,  but  in  an  instant  her  keenest  fears  were 
aroused  for  Dyke ;  possibly  it  was  some  bad  tidings  from 
him,  and  she  asked  trembingly,  as  she  looked  at  the  super 
scription. 


126  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  Miss  Ned  Edgar,"  written  in  an  entirely  strange 
hand : 

"  Who  gave  you  this  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  out  on  the  road ;  and  there's  to  be  no 
answer,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  the  man,  with  the  best  bow 
he  knew  how  to  make,  took  a  hurried  departure. 

It  was  well  that  Mrs.  Doloran  was  too  much  engaged  to 
notice  her  "  companion,"  or  she  probably  would  have  in 
sisted  on  knowing  the  contents  of  the  note  ;  as  it  was,  every 
body  in  Ned's  vicinity  was  watching  the  young  girl,  and 
though  she  did  not  look  at  any  of  them,  by  a  peculiar  in 
tuition  she  felt  their  critical  observation,  and  she  blushed 
hotly  as  she  opened  the  note,  and  in  perfect  amazement 
read: 

"  Within  an  hour  the  last  and  greatest  sacrifice  I  can 
make  shall  be  completed.  Can  any  love  demand  more  ?  " 

That  was  all ;  neither  date  nor  signature,  and  the  pen 
manship  was  so  utterly  unfamiliar.  She  looked  up,  and 
in  her  bewilderment  directly  across  at  Carnew  and  his 
companion,  Edna.  Carnew  was  watching  her  so  intently 
that  his  eyes  to  her  heated  imagination  seemed  to  be 
flaming  through  her,  and  Edna,  slightly  leaning  forward 
in  her  eagerness  to  watch  her  cousin,  was  pale  as  death. 

In  an  instant  Ned's  brain  was  whirling  with  excited 
thought ;  the  words  that  she  had  heard  at  the  mill,  "  ~No 
love  is  deep  that  will  not  make  every  sacrifice,"  and  which 
she  was  so  sure  had  been  uttered  by  Edna's  voice,  came 
back  to  her  and  startled  her  with  their  similarity  to  the 
expressions  in  the  note.  Then  Edna's  present  appearance, 
her  unusual  pallor,  the  evident  anxiety  with  which  she 
watched  her  cousin,  all  told  that  she  had  some,  and  per 
haps  imprudent,  secret ;  but  again,  the  superscription 
made  her  hesitate.  "  Miss  Ned  Edgar — "  surely  it  was 
meant  for  her,  for  never  by  any  possible  chance  was  her 
cousin  addressed  as  Ned.  To  end  her  suspense,  she  would 
go  immediately  to  Edna,  give  her  the  note,  and  ask  for  an 
interview.  But,  at  that  instant  everybody's  attention  was 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  127 

attracted  by  the  sudden  and  rapid  advent  of  a  carriage  into 
the  grounds,  and  the  sudden  scream  of : 

"  My  father  !  "  from  Edna,  who  had  recognized  its  soli 
tary  occupant,  as  for  an  instant  he  put  forth  his  head 
from  the  carriage  window. 

Immediate  excitement  ensued,  rendered  ridiculous  in 
no  small  measure  by  Mrs.  Doloraii's  indignant  outburst 
of: 

"  The  man's  come  too  soon  ;  here  are  the  lights  not 
half  completed,  the  dais  in  the  parlor  isn't  finished,  nor 
the  velvet  drapery,  nor  the  antlers  hung  in  his  room,  and 
I  don't  believe  Mascar  has  his  stories  ready,  and  I  am 
not  in  costume,  and — why  didn't  he  wait  ? " 

Appealing  to  everybody  about  her,  but  looking  long 
est  at  her  nephew,  who  was  secretly  delighted  at  this 
early  arrival ;  it  would  probably  spare  him  much  morti 
fication. 

Edna,  with  an  apparent  forgetfulness  of  self  which 
seemed  very  charming,  had  broken  from  the  company 
and  dashed  after  the  carriage,  in  order  to  meet  her  father 
when  he  alighted,  on  seeing  which  Mrs.  Doloran  com 
missioned  Alan  to  do  the  honors  of  receiving  the  guest, 
until  evening,  when  she  would  present  herself  in  state. 

•  "  And  we  can  have  the  illumination  to-night,"  she  said, 
taking  Ordotte's  arm,  and  going  on  a  tour  of  survey. 

The  company  scattered ;  some  to  accompany  Alan  to 
the  house,  others  to  take  their  accustomed  strolls  through 
the  grounds,  and  Ned,  in  uncertainty  as  to  what  she  had 
better  do,  stood  twirling  the  note  between  her  fingers. 
Carnew  said  as  he  passed  her : 

"  Come  with  us  to  the  house,  Miss  Edgar ;  my  aunt 
will  not  need  you  for  some  time,  and  I  am  sure  you  are 
anxious  to  meet  your  old  friend,  Mr.  Edgar." 

There  was  the  faintest  touch  of  sarcasm  in  the  last 
words,  but  faint  as  it  was,  Ned  caught  it,  and  wondering 
why  he  had  used  it,  she  forgot  her  usual  prudence  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face.  He  returned  her  look 
carelessly  and  passed  on.  She  followed,  and  was  in  time 


128  A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

to  see  Edna  hanging  on  her  father's  arm,  with  all  the  de 
light  of  an  eager  and  happy-hearted  child.  There  was  no 
pallor  no  anxiety  about  her  now.  She  was  brilliant  and 
joyous,  and  proceeded  to  make  the  introductions  with  in 
imitable  grace. 

"  And  Ned,  papa,"  she  said,  putting  her  cousin  for 
ward  the  moment  she  saw  her ;  "here  is  Ned,  our  own 
Ned." 

How  Ned's  heart  throbbed  with  gratitude  for  this  affec 
tionate  recognition. 

But  Mr.  Edgar  only  bowed  in  his  stateliest  manner,  and 
suffered  his  fingers  to  close  coldly  over  hers  for  an  instant, 
while  he  asked  for  her  health  with  the  same  conventional 
courtesy  that  he  might  have  extended  to  any  acquain 
tance.  She  answered  as  coldly,  and  blushing  hotly,  with 
drew  to  another  part  of  the  room,  while  Carnew,  watch 
ing  the  scene  with  intense  interest,  recurred  again  men 
tally  to  all  that  Edna  had  told  him. 

Father  and  daughter ;  they  were  a  pretty  sight  together ; 
she  so  beautiful  and  so  affectionate,  and  he  so  handsome, 
although  strangely  careworn,  and  so  exquisitely  tender 
to  her.  The  tears  rose  in  Ned's  eyes  as  she  watched 
them,  and  feeling  that  she  would  suffocate  if  she  re 
mained,  she  hurried  out  of  doors  for  one  of  the  solitary 
strolls  that  generally  composed  her.  Taking  a  secluded 
part  of  the  grounds,  she  wandered  on,  so  absorbed  in  her 
thoughts  as  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  the  scenes  she 
passed,  until  she  came  suddenly  upon  a  little  group  of 
men  whom  she  recognized  as  farm  hands  of  Kahandabed. 
They  were  grouped  about  something  which  they  seemed 
to  be  examining  with  great  earnestness,  and  as  they 
started  on  hearing  her  footsteps,  and  turned  with  some 
thing  like  dismay  to  look  at  her,  a  man  who  had  been 
inside  the  little  circle  rose  from  a  crouching  position,  and 
seeing  her,  came  forward.  It  was  Macgilivray,  with  a 
more  solemn  expression  than  even  his  grave  Scotch  face 
usually  wore. 

"  Take  you  reel'  awa',  Miss  Edgar ;  its  noo  sicht  for  your 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  129 

eyes  ;  a  puir  daft  lad  that's  killed  liimsel'  is  doon  there ; 
he's  shot  through  the  heart ;  wi'  a  paper  pinned  to  his 
breast  that  says  it's  for  love  he  done  it — a  dour  love  that 
makes  a  man  do  the  leek  o'  that." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Ned,  white  and  trembling. 

"  There's  nae  telling  yet ;  we  don't  leek  to  touch  him 
till  the  authorities  gets  here.  I'll  gang  to  the  house  wi' 
word  now." 

And  he  left  Ned,  who  also  retraced  her  way  to  the 
house. 

XXYIII. 

The  excitement  was  intense  among  the  servants,  and 
extended  even  to  the  guests  when  it  became  known  that 
a  young  man  had  shot  himself  on  the  grounds  of  Ra- 
handabed.  u  The  authorities,"  as  Macgilivray  had  termed 
the  country  coroner,  was  not  long  in  coining  to  the  spot, 
and  after  such  an  official  investigation  as  he  best  knew 
how  to  make,  the  suicide  was  borne  to  one  of  the  barns  on 
the  estate,  and  there  laid  out  with  a  sort  of  rude  and  shrink 
ing  kindness.  No  one  knew  him,  and  nothing  was  found 
upon  his  person  to  reveal  his  identity.  Not  even  a  porte- 
monnaie  was  found  in  his  pocket ;  nothing  but  a  little  scrap 
of  paper  pinned  to  his  breast,  on  which  was  written  in  a 
bold,  manly  hand : 

"  For  love  I  have  done  it." 

The  pity  of  the  female  servants  was  excited  by  his 
handsome  appearance.  Not  even  the  throes  of  death  had 
disturbed  his  regular  features,  and  save  for  the  ghastliness 
of  his  face,  one  might  well  think  him  sleeping. 

With  that  morbid  curiosity  that  sometimes  actuates 
alike  high  and  low  born,  the  guests  went  out  to  see 
him.  Indeed,  everybody  went  except  Ned,  Mrs.  Doloran, 
Mr.  Edgar,  and  Edna. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  in  strange  contradiction  to  herself,  re 
fused  to  share  any  of  the  morbid  curiosity,  replying  in 
angry  astonishment,  when  asked  to  accompany  some  of 
the  guests  to  view  the  suicide, 


130  A    FATAL    KKSEMBLANCE. 

"  What !  ask  me  to  look  at  tlie  dead  fool  ?  The  only 
pit}7  is  lie  didn't  blow  out  liis  brains  instead  of  liis  heart, 
that  we  might  see  how  little  he  had,  and  what  poor  stuff 
they  were.  For  love,  indeed,  he  shot  himself.  He'd  bet 
ter  said,  for  lack  of  honest  sense." 

And  she  went  on  the  instant  to  select  the  toilet  in 
which  she  intended  to  receive  her  new  guest.  With  lu 
dicrous  Wiiimsicalness,  she  was  determined  on  not  ap 
pearing  in  his  presence  until  she  should  meet  him  in 
state  that  evening,  on  that  account  intending  even  to 
dine  in  seclusion. 

Mr.  Edgar  refused  to  see  the  suicide,  because  he  had 
110  interest  in  the  matter,  and  Ned  did  not  go  for  the 
reason  that  such  a  death  had  an  appalling  horror  for  her ; 
but  it  was  none  of  these  things  that  deterred  Edna. 

It  was  the  horrible  fear  that  she  should  recognize  the 
dead  man,  and  her  heart  beat  with  sickening  speed,  and 
her  face  paled  and  flushed  in  a  breath  at  every  observa 
tion  upon  the  event  made  by  the  company.  And  yet, 
with  the  feeling  that  restrained  her,  there  was  at  the  same 
time  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  see  him,  but  to  see 
him  alone,  to  look  upon  the  dead  face  when  no  curious 
eye  would  be  upon  herself,  and  involuntarily  she  glanced 
about  the  room,  as  if  she  feared  she  was  even  then  the 
object  of  suspicious  scrutiny. 

But,  there  were  no  eyes  fixed  very  earnestly  upon  her 
save  those  of  Ned,  who  was  longing  for  an  opportunity 
to  speak  about  the  mysterious  note  she  had  received. 
Strangely  enough,  though  its  words  seemed  printed  be 
fore  her  everywhere  she  turned,  she  did  not  dream  of 
connecting  them  with  the  suicide. 

To  stricken,  guilty  Edna,  Ned's  anxious  look  conveyed 
a  verification  of  all  Jier  fears.  She,  too,  thought  con 
stantly  about  the  note,  feeling  assured  that  it  was  for 
herself,  and  perhaps  contained  a  warning  of  the  dreadful 
thing  that  had  happened.  What  should  she  do  ?  Where 
could  she  flee  for  help  « 

In  whom  could  she  confide  ?     Was  it  necessary  for  her 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  13  i 

safety  to  tell  lier  wretched  secret  to  Ned?  Ned,  whose 
rectitude  was  so  strong  that  she  would  die  rather  than 
betray  any  confidence,  or  violate  her  slightest  promise  ? 
She  looked  at  her  father,  beside  whom  she  was  seated, 
and  to  whom  Carnew  was  showing  some  rare  prints,  and 
she  shuddered  as  she  pictured  the  anger  and  scorn  with 
which  he  would  greet  the  knowledge  of  his  daughter's 
foolish  conduct ;  and  then  she  looked  at  Carnew,  and  a 
vise  seemed  about  her  heart  as  she  imagined  his  con 
tempt.  What  if  Ned  should  be  impelled  to  speak  to  him 
about  the  note  she  had  received,  and  the  suspicions  that, 
in  connection  with  the  suicide,  it  must  have  engendered 
in  her  mind?  Her  face  became  ghastly  at  the  thought, 
and,  feeling  that  she  must  do  something  to  prevent  such 
a  revelation,  she  excused  herself  to  the  two  gentlemen, 
and  crossed  to  Ned. 

a  You  are  going  to  dine  witli  Mrs.  Doloran,  in  her 
private  parlor,  are  you  not  ? "  she  said  in  a  half-whisper, 
though  Ned  being  seated  in  an  embrasure,  there  was  no 
one  to  overhear. 

u  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  meet  me  as  soon  as  you  can  leave  her,  will  you  ? " 
spoken  quite  in  a  whisper  now ;  u  I  shall  be  in  my  own 
room." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ned  ;  "  for  I  also  have  something  to  say  to 
you,  and — 

She  was  about  to  add  what  she  thought  of  the  note  she 
had  received,  and  indeed  to  give  it  to  Edna,  but  at  that 
moment  Brekbellew  came  up  to  them  and  claimed  Miss 
Edgar's  attention. 

Mrs.  Doloran  was  so  unsually  and  vexatiously  captious 
at  the  meal  which  she  and  her  companion  ate  together  in 
that  lady's  private  parlor,  that  it  seemed  as  if  poor  Ned 
was  to  be  deprived  of  all  opportunity  to  have  her  prom 
ised  interview  with  Edna ;  but  few  mouthfuls  passed  her 
own  lips.  She  was  too  full  of  anxiety  and  of  a  nameless, 
nervous  dread  to  be  able  to  eat.  But  the  voluble,  whim 
sical  lady  did  not  notice  that.  Ned  was  a  figure-head,  so 


132J  A   FATAL    EESEMBLA.NCE. 

to  speak,  at  which  she  could  direct  all  her  remarks,  and 
she  was  in  no  humor  to  care  whether  they  were  replied 
to  or  not,  but  she  was  in  a  humor  to  talk,  and  babble, 
babble  she  went,  to  the  agony  of  the  young  girl  who  saw 
hour  after  hour  pass  away  without  bringing  Mrs.  Doloran 
any  nearer  to  the  end  of  her  garrulity,  or  to  the  close  of 
her  meal,  having,  in  the  interest  of  her  tongue,  suspended 
eating  so  frequently  and  so  long.  And  did  the  poor  com 
panion  venture  to  request  a  brief  leave  of  absence,  it 
would  have  brought  upon  her  such  an  avalanche  of  imper 
tinent  questions  that  it  were  better  to  refrain  altogether 
from  seeing  Edna  that  evening.  But,  at  last  a  message 
came  to  the  effect  that  the  company  were  impatiently 
waiting  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Doloran.  That  recalled  the 
eccentric  lady,  and  made  it  necessary  that  she  should  con 
clude  hastily  her  meal  and  deliver  herself  into  the  hands 
of  her  maid ;  so  Ned  was  free  for  a  little  while.  She 
hurried  to  Miss  Edgar's  room.  Edna  opened  the  door  to 
her;  her  face  as  white  as  the.  white,  fleecy  dress  she  wore, 
and  she  was  trembling  in  such  a  manner  that  the  very  hand 
she  extended  to  Ned  shook  like  that  of  an  old,  palsied 
woman. 

"  I  thought  you  wrould  never  come,"  she  whispered, 
"  and  I  am  so  wretched." 

To  Ned's  astonishment  she  was  crying — crying  as  if 
her  very  soul  would  melt. 

Her  cousin  could  not  speak.  She  was  too  much 
astounded  to  find  a  word  of  comfort,  or  even  inquiry  ;  but 
her  tender  heart  ached  in  sympathy  with  this  strange,  un 
known  grief;  nay,  every  instinct  of  her  true  womanly 
nature  was  aroused,  and  all  went  forth  in  pity  and  love  to 
Edna,  as  if  she  had  been  an  own  sister.  She  forgot  even 
her  previous  suspicions,  her  half -distrust,  her  doubt,  and 
she  wound  her  arms  about  the  sobbing  girl  and  pressed 
her  closely  to  her. 

Edna  roused  herself. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you.  But  may  T  trust  you  ? 
Will  you  think  of  me  as  a  sister  and  guard  my  troubles  in 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


133 


your  own  breast  ?  "Will  you  swear,  Ned,  never  to  betray 
my  secrets  if  I  tell  them  to  you?  Will  you  swear 
solemnly  ? " 

She  disengaged  herself  from  the  tender  clasp,  and  drew 
back  as  if  to  study  Ned's  face. 

Ned  was  startled.  An  oath  was  to  her  something 
dreadful ;  and  this  oath,  once  made,  would  bind  her  so 
sacredly — she  who  regarded  a  mere  promise  with  a 
martyr's  sense  of  duty — that,  no  matter  to  what  it  com 
mitted  her,  it  would  still  be  inviolable.  Then  also  her 
previous  suspicion,  and  distrust,  and  fear  of  Edna  came 
suddenly  back,  and  all  her  emotions  showed  themselves 
in  the  troubled  working  of  her  countenance. 

"You  shrink,  you  hesitate,"  said  Edna,  "and  I  shall 
not  force  you.  I  have  no  right  to  burden  you  with  my 
sorrows,  and  I  shall  not.  But  you  were  the  only  one  in 
the  wide  world  I  could  turn  to,  and  I  felt  that  you 
loved  me." 

The  last  words  touched  anew  the  sympathetic  listener ; 
still,  true  to  that  prudence  with  which  she  was  unusually 
gifted,  she  said  gently : 

"  Your  father  surely  is  your  truest  friend.  You  will 
not  refuse  to  confide  in  him  ? " 

"  I  cannot,"  spoken  in  a  strangely  rigid  way. 

"  Then,  will  it  do  if  I  promise  to  keep  your  secret  just 
so  long  or  so  far  as  it  is  consistent  with  duty  to  keep  it  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  must  have  your  oath  to  keep  it  uncondition 
ally.  Otherwise,  there  is  but  one  course  for  me  to  pur 
sue — one  dreadful  course  at  which  even  yon,  when  you 
hear  it,  with  your  gentle  charity,  will  pity  more  than 
blame.  Could  you  take  the  oath  I  ask,  you  would  be  able 
to  advise  and  to  console  me.  You  have  suspicions ;  you 
had  them  before  even  I  asked  for  this  interview.  You 
think  I  have  been  guilty  of  imprudence,  perhaps  of 
wrong.  You  are  in  some  measure  right.  In  any  case, 
since  you  refuse  what  I  ask,  I  shall  be  soon  beyond  the 
reach  of  all  earthly  consequences." 

She  turned  away  and  threw  herself  sobbing  into  a  chair, 


134  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

leaving  Ned  aghast  at  the  implied  terrible  threat  in  the  last 
words.  "  Beyond  the  reach  of  all  earthly  consequences  " 
could  mean  nothing  else  than  self-destruction,  and,  too 
guileless  to  dream  for  a  moment  that  it  was  only  a  part  of 
her  cousin's  shrewd  and  clever  acting  in  order  to  work 
upon  Ned's  too  easily  enlisted  sympathies,  she  had  but 
one  thought,  that  it  was  now  her  duty,  even  to  the  taking 
of  the  oath,  to  prevent  this  last  dreadful  crime. 

"  Only  tell  me,"  she  said,  kneeling  beside  her  cousin, 
"that  my  keeping  of  this  secret  will  not  do  a  wrong  to 
anybody,  will  not  bind  my  conscience  in  a  dreadful  re 
morse,  and  I  shall  take  the  oath." 

Edna  turned  to  her,  even  slipping  from  her  chair,  until 
she  too  was  on  her  knees,  and  with  her  arms  about  Ned, 
until  their  faces  almost  touched. 

"  There  is  no  wrong  done  now,"  with  an  almost  in 
audible  emphasis  in  the  last  word,  "to  anybody  but  me." 

"  Then  I  swear,"  said  Ned,  "  never  to  reveal  what  you 
shall  tell  me." 

"  Solemnly  swear  ? "  said  Edna. 

"  Solemnly  swear,"  repeated  Ned,  and  Edna's  heart 
beat  with  exultation,  for  Ned  had  taken  the  oath,  and  had 
taken  it  upon  her  knees. 

She  arose,  and  Ned  rose  also. 

There  were  no  more  tears  now,  no  further  passionate 
abandon  to  grief.  She  could  be  something  of  her  own 
old  self  again,  and  tell  her  secret  how  she  would,  for  it 
would  be  as  safe  in  Ned's  breast  as  if  it  were  buried  in  the 
grave.  Still,  she  affected  to  shiver,  as  she  said :  "I  am 
a  married  woman,  Ned. 

"  I  was  married  by  a  clergyman  not  very  far  from  Wee- 
wald  Place,  but  so  secretly  that  no  one  in  my  father's 
house  dreamed  of  such  a  thing —  '  She  paused  through 
sheer  fright  at  Ned's  appearance ;  the  girl  was  ghastly, 
and  she  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  breathing. 

"What  is  it,  Ned?  why  are  you  so  affected?  Surely 
it  is  no  more  than  others  have  done  before  rue — and  I 
loved  him." 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  135 

Ned  had  regained  her  breath,  and  she  answered  sternly : 

"  How  could  you  marry  without  the  knowledge  of  your 
father  ?  How  could  you  be  so  false  to  your  duty  as  to  re 
ceive  any  suitor  without  acquainting  him  ? " 

Edna  sank  to  her  knees  and  sobbed : 

"Do  not  upbraid  me;  I  was  imprudent,  erring  if  you 
will,  but  at  least  pity  me  now ;  I  am  sorely  punished,  for  I 
feel  that  the  suicide  whom  they  have  found  on  the 
grounds,  is  my  husband." 

Her  listener  started  back  in  terror  and  dismay  at  the 
announcement. 

"  Your  husband  !  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,'  said  Edna  starting  suddenly  to  her  feet,  "  and 
I  have  felt  that  the  note  which  was  given  to  you  this 
afternoon  was  meant  for  me,  and  was  only  given  to  you 
in  mistake." 

The  note  ;  she  had  forgotten  it  for  the  moment  in  the 
feelings  excited  by  Edna's  strange  revelation  ;  now,  she 
pulled  it  from  her  pocket,  and  put  it  into  her  cousin's 
hand. 

Twice,  three  times  she  read  it ;  then  she  put  it  to  her 
lips  and  moaned : 

"My  God  !  it  is  he  ;  that  is  his  farewell  to  me." 

In  her  excitement  Ned  forgot  to  inquire  just  then  why 
the  note  was  addressed  to  her,  but  she  was  thinking  of 
the  mysterious  words  which  she  heard  at  the  mill.  She 
repeated  them  now,  and  asked  if  Edna  had  uttered  them. 

u  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  heard  you  call  my  name, 
but  fear  lent  wings  to  my  feet.  He  concealed  himself  in 
the  vicinity,  but  I  fled  to  Ilahandabed,  and  had  just  time 
to  be  in  the  house  and  assume  a  most  composed  attitude 
when  you  arrived,  and  were  no  doubt  surprised  at  my  un 
ruffled  presence  there.  But  come  with  me  now,  Ned,  and 
let  me  convince  myself  whether  my  dreadful  fear  be  true. 
In  company  with  you,  I  can  summon  courage  to  look  at 
him  ;  alone  I  could  not.  Nobody  wrill  miss  us  " — as  Ned 
shrank  from  the  proposition,  and  Edna  attributed  the 
shrinking  to  the  unseemliness  of  leaving  the  house  un- 


136  A     FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

escorted  at  such  an  hour — "  for  my  father  tliinks  I  am 
confined  to  my  room  with  some  sudden,  slight  indispo 
sition,  and  Mrs.  Poloran  will  hardly  want  you  for  an  hour 
yet.  Come  !  do  not  refuse  me  I  am  beside  myself  as  it 
is,  and  to  bear  this  dreadful  suspense  longer  will  kill  me.' 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  head  in  a  wild  way  that  fright 
ened  Ned  and  made  her  consent,  in  spite  of  her  aversion 
to  look  upon  the  suicide. 

Flinging  a  long  dark  wrap  to  her  cousin,  Edna  folded 
another  about  herself,  and  putting  into  her  pocket  a  piece 
of  wax  candle  and  some  matches,  the  two  went  forth,  and 
descended  by  a  back  staircase  to  the  grounds. 

Edna  had  taken  care  to  inform  herself  just  where  lie 
was  laid,  and  as  the  night  was  a  bright,  clear  one,  they  had 
little  difficulty  in  finding  the  path  to  the  out-houses.  No 
one  seemed  to  be  about,  for  which  Miss  Edgar  was  thank 
ful,  though  if  they  had  been  met  by  any  of  the  servants, 
the  only  persons  likely  to  be  on  that  part  of  the  grounds, 
she  was  prepared  to  say  (mite  frankly  that  they  were  only 
gratifying  their  curiosity  to  see  the  suicide. 

There  were  so  many  out-houses  that  the  difficulty  w^as 
to  find  the  one,  and  with  a  nerve  that  to  Ned  was  most 
appalling,  Miss  Edgar  lifted  the  latch  of  door  after  door, 
of  milk-house,  and  wash-house,  and  barn,  and  lighting  her 
candle  went  forward  undismayed.  Her  search  was  un 
availing,  until  they  came  to  one  temporary  structure,  the 
door  of  which  was  broadly  open.  A  gust  of  wind  seem 
ing  to  bear  the  very  breath  of  the  charnel  house  assailed 
them,  and  blew  out  the  candle  the  moment  it  was  lighted. 
Nothing  daunted,  she  lit  it  again  and  went  forward,  Ned 
slightly  in  the  rear.  The  corpse  was  there,  on  some 
rudely  improvised  trestles,  and  covered  face  and  all  by  a 
sheet.  "Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Edna,  holding  the 
candle  aloft  in  one  hand,  drew  down  the  sheet  with  the 
other.  Impelled  by  a  feeling  strangely  apart  from  her 
self,  and  yet  seeming  to  centre  within  it  every  emotion  of 
her  soul,  Ned  too  leaned  forward  as  the  sheet  was  drawn, 


A   FATAL    11ESEMBLANCE.  137 

and  beheld  tlie  still  wliite  features  of  handsome  Dick 
Mackay. 

She  could  not  speak.  She  could  hardly  breathe,  and 
in  her  agonized  surprise  she  turned  to  her  cousin,  but  at 
that  same  moment  Edna  flung  the  candle  down,  and  in 
the  darkness  that  succeeded,  the  candle  going  suddenly 
out  from  the  force  of  the  fall,  her  sobs  could  be  heard  as 
if  si ic  had  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  the  dead  man. 

Ned  found  her  voice  and  gropii\g,  clutched  Edna's 
shoulder,  seemingly  from  its  low  position  on  a  line  with 
the  suicide's  pallet. 

"  Come  back,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  getting  ill." 

The  girl  arose,  and  the  light  from  without  showing  in 
through  the  open  doorway  being  sufficient  to  guide  them, 
she  did  not  again  light  the  candle,  but  retraced  her  way 
hurriedly  and  silently,  not  a  word  being  spoken  until  her 
room  was  reached.  Then  Ned,  who  had  somewhat  re 
covered  herself,  and  was  influenced  in  turn  by  feelings  of 
pity,  disgust,  indignation,  and  sorrow,  said  with  some 
severity : 

"  How  could  you  marry  him,  and  marry  him  without 
acquainting  your  father  ? " 

"  Ask  me  why  women  have  been  foolish  before  my 
time  ?  "  answered  Edna  impatiently  ;  "  why  they  fall  in 
love  with  handsome  faces,  and  give  their  hearts  before 
they  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  heart  ?  O  Ned  !  if  I 
could  undo  that  one  mad  act,  and  restore  him  to  life,  I 
would  gladly  die  myself."  Her  grief  was  real  this  time, 
for  a  transient  remorse  had  seized  her ;  remorse  for  the 
daeadful  crime  of  which  she  knew  but  too  well  she  had 
been  the  cause. 

"  His  family,"  gasped  Ned,  "  his  poor  old  father,  his 
young  sister  of  whom  you  have  spoken  to  me  so  often — 
ah  !  I  understand  now  the  strange  interest  you  seemed  in 
your  conversations  to  take  in  them  all.  But  none  of  his 
people  know  that  you  are  his  wife,  do  they  ? " 

"  His  sister  knows." 

"  And  will  she  keep  the  matter  secret  now,  when  her 


138  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

brother  lias  committed  suicide — will  she  not  rather  in  her 
grief  be  likely  to  tell  everything  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  that  is  what  I  fear  " — and  Edn  a's  tears 
burst  out  afresh;  "but  I  have  one  hope- -no  one  has 
recognized  him ;  he  may  be  buried  unidentified." 

"fflna!" 

The  appalling  tone  in  which  her  name  was  uttered 
compelled  the  weeping  girl  to  look  up  ;  but  she  cowered 
from  the  stern-looking  face  that  met  her. 

"  Would  you  adcl  further  crime  to  what  you  have  al 
ready  done,  by  not,  if  no  other  means  can  be  found,  your 
self  telling  that  you  have  recognized  in  this  suicide  the 
son  of  poor  old  Mackay  ?  Would  you  leave  this  aged 
father  to  wait  in  an  agonized  suspense  for  tidings  of  his 
missing  boy  ?  The  most  dreadful  certainty  is  better  than 
an  uncertain  waiting.  O  Edna!  do  not  let  this  first 
wretched  act  of  yours  crush  every  kindly  impulse  of  your 
womanhood." 

"  But  what  will  become  of  me  f  "  moaned  Edna.  "  His 
sister  may,  as  you  say,  tell  all  when  she  knows  of  this 
dreadful  occurrence,  and  what  then  shall  /do  ? " 

"  Bear  the  consequences  ;  they  will  hardly  be  so  dread 
ful  since  the  unfortunate  man  is  dead,  and  you  are  a  widow 
instead  of  a  wife.  Your  father,  in  consideration  of  that, 
will  condone  your  act,  I  think." 

"  You  don't  know  my  father  ;  he  is  unforgiving — he  h 
even  vindictive — and  he  would  never,  never  consider  me 
his  child  again." 

"  Then  accept  it,  if  lie  does  not,"  said  Ned  warmly ; 
"  will  it  be  anything  to  what  you  have  brought  that  poor 
wretch  who  lies  dead  by  his  own  hand ;  to  the  grief  you 
have  brought  upon  his  family  ?  You  were  daring  and 
defiant  enough  to  marry  him ;  be  equally  daring  to  con 
front  the  consequences." 

"  I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannnot,"  she  moaned. 

"Then  /sha1!  reveal  the  identity  of  the  dead  man; 
the  oath  you  exacted  does  not  bind  me  in  that  respect.  I 
can  say  at  least,  that  ./have  seen  and  recognized  him." 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  139 

"  And  will  you  say  that  I  was  witli  you  when  you  rec 
ognized  him  ? "  asked  Edna,  her  voice  so  tremulous  that 
she  could  hardly  enunciate  the  words. 

"  If  circumstances  require  the  truth,  I  shall ;  but  your 
conscience  is  making  a  frightful  coward  of  you.  Why 
should  it  be  more  remarkable  for  you  to  have  looked  at 
the  suicide,  than  that  the  other  guests  of  the  house  should 
have  done  so  ?  " 

Edna  roused  herself : 

"  You  are  right ;  my  fears  are  making  a  coward  of  me. 
I  shall  tell  my  father  that  I  have  seen  and  recognized 
Dick  " — pronouncing  the  last  word  witli  a  gulp — "  and 
— "  a  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  her.  It  was  a  message 
from  Mr.  Edgar  to  know  how  his  daughter  was,  and  the 
messenger  at  the  same  time  stated  that  Mrs.  Doloran  was 
searching  the  house  for  Ned. 

"I  shall  go  to  Mrs.  Doloran  immediately,"  said  the 
young  lady,  rising  to  depart. 

"  And  I,"  said  Edna  to  the  messenger,  "  shall  join  the 
company  in  the  parlor  in  a  few  moments.  Tell  my  father 
so." 

XXIX. 

What  refined,  fastidious,  quiet-looking  Mr.  Edgar 
thought  of  the  great,  ill-dressed,  loud,  and  forward  wo 
man  to  whom  he  was  presented  by  Carnew,  it  required  his 
most  stern  self-control  to  prevent  from  showing,  at  least 
in  his  face.  She  gave  herself  the  most  absurd  airs  and 
with  her  immense  size,  and  her  dress  of  gay-colored  satin 
that  shimmered  in  the  light  like  a  great  surface  of  metal 
lic  sheen,  and  her  head  dress  of  plumes  that  added  to  her 
height,  and  made  her  seem  like  a  female  warrior,  she  was 
a  most  novel  and  ludicrous  sight.  Those  of  the  company 
who  were  riot  within  the  range  of  her  vision  were  con 
vulsed  with  laughter,  and  those  who  were,  had  to  resort 
to  many  manoeuvres  to  hide  their  mirth. 

Carnew  was  crimson  from  anger  and  shame,  but  with 
his  imperturable  self-command,  lie  permitted  no  more 


140  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

evidence  of  his  feelings  to  appear  than  the  flush  itself 
gave,  and  he  fulfilled  his  part  of  the  presentation  of  his 
aunt  with  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  grace  which  charmed  Mr. 
Edgar.  That  done,  }.?.e  turned  away  ;  but  Mrs.  Doloran, 
whose  whim  it  was  to  keep  him  just  then,  caught  his 
arm. 

"  Now  do,  Alan,  let  your  gallantry  come  to  my  rescue 
awhile.  You  know  that  Mr.  Edgar,  having  travelled  so 
much,  will  expect  to  be  entertained  by  a  varied  conversa 
tion.  And  what  variety  can  a  woman's  poor  mind 

devise  1     You  know,  Mr.  Edgar "  with  a  languishing 

raising  of  her  eyes,  and  an  affected  setting  back  of  her 
head  that  was  most  mirth-provoking. 

"  I  am  one  of  those  who  know  the  true  value  of  the 
sex :  the  little  insipid  nothings  that  till  the  female  mind  ; 
the  vagaries,  the  emotions  that  upset  the  female  heart. 
Therefore  I  am  anxious  to  retain  about  you  something 
that  savors  of  brains."  With  a  look  at  her  nephew  meant 
to  be  conciliatory,  but  that  only  roused  his  indignation  to 
white  heat. 

Mr.  Edgar  bowed  ;  the  only  thing  he  could  do  under 
the  circumstances,  as  in  the  character  of  such  an  honored 
guest  he  could  neither  reply  as  he  would  to  that  unwo 
manly  speech,  nor,  in  deference  to  the  nephew  whom  lie 
very  much  admired,  betray  by  a  look  his  utter  disgust  of 
the  speaker. 

But,  Alan,  who  was  bound  by  no  such  regard,  and  who 
was  now  so  angry  that  even  his  wonted  command  had 
deserted  him,  said  a  little  hotly  :  ult  is  better  for  me  to 
go,  Aunt  Doloran,  than  stay  to  witness  your  inoculation 
of  Mr.  Edgar  with  ideas  so  disparaging  to  yourself  as  a 
woman."  lie  bowed  low  to  his  aunt,  and  before  she  could 
recover  from  her  astonishment  and  indignation  at  his 
boldness  in  administering  such  a  public  reproof,  he  had 
bowed  also  to  Edgar,  broken  from  her  grasp,  and  was 
hurrying  away. 

"  There's  a  fool  for  you,"  in  her  anger  bursting  out  in 
to  her  customary  inelegant  speech ;  "lie  can't  take  the 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

truth,  and  never  could ;  but  here  is  one — ''  catching 
sight  of  Ordotte,  who  had  just  entered  the  parlor  and  was 
approaching  her,  "  who  holds  rny  views  of  things." 

Ordotte  had  been  presented  to  the  guest  earlier  in  the 
evening,  and  he  now  came  forward  with  that  ease  of 
manner  which  to  thoroughly  cultured  Edgar  savored 
a  little  too  much  of  ill-bred  familiarity,  and  began  at 
once  with  clever  tact  to  soothe  Mrs.  Doloran's  irritation 
and  to  draw  out  the  guest.  In  her  new-found  interest 
the  lady  forgot  her  previous  uncomfortable  feelings,  and 
talked  volubly  and  nonsensically  enough  to  corroborate 
her  previous  assertion  of  the  impoteiicy  of  the  female 
mind. 

"  But  your  stories,  Mascar  ;  your  Indian  stories,"  she 
said  suddenly,  in  the  very  middle  of  one  of  her  pointless 
tales,  remembering  that  that  part  of  the  programme  ar 
ranged  for  Mr.  Edgar's  entertainment  had  not  been  yet 
carried  out. 

Ordotte  laughed — a  laugh  that  showed  in  full  his  white 
even  teeth,  whiter  looking  by  contrast  with  the  tawny 
hue  of  his  face — and  snapped  his  eyes  at  the  new  guest  in 
a  way  that  rendered  the  latter  a  little  uncomfortable. 

"  My  Indian  stories,"  he  said,  when  he  had  ceased 
laughing,  "  will  have,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  very  singular 
and  fascinating  interest  for  Mr.  Edgar.  Which  shall  I 
tell,  Mrs.  Dolorau  ?  The  one  where  I  lay  in  a  jungle  all 
night  with  the  dead  tiger  on  my  breast,  or ? " 

"~No  ;  don't  tell  any  of  them  yet ;"  said  Mr.  Doloran, 
rising.  Wait  until  I  get  Ned  here  ;  I  enjoy  your  stories 
better  when  I  have  her  face  to  watch,  ever  since  you  said 
her  face  recalled  one  of  them  to  you." 

But  the  messenger  dispatched  for  Ned  reported  that 
the  young  lady  was  neither  in  her  own  room,  nor  in  any 
of  Mrs.  Doloran's  apartments. 

"  Then  search  the  house  for  her,"  said  the  lady,  impa 
tiently  ;  and  so  messengers  were  sent  in  different  direc 
tions.  Mr.  Edgar,  taking  advantage  of  the  slight  lull 


142  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

that  had  occurred  in  the  conversation,  begged  to  be  ex 
cused,  while  he  also  sent  a  message  to  his  daughter. 

Ned  entered  the  parlor,  pale  and  tremulous  from  her 
recent  emotions,  and  pitiably  indisposed  to  make  one  of 
the  party  awaiting  her.  But  she  nerved  herself  to  it, 
and  bowing,  dropped  into  the  chair  beside  Mrs.  Doloran. 

It  was  well  that  that  lady  was  so  anxiously  interested 
in  the  anticipated  Indian  story,  or  Ned  would  have  been 
assailed  by  most  sharp  and  impertinent  questions.  As 
it  was,  she  hardly  noticed  her  after  having  motioned  her 
to  the  chair  beside  her  own. 

Ordotte  begun : 

"Klipp  Kargarton,  the  hero  of  my  tale,  was  one  of 
the  strangest  fellows  I  ever  met.  He  had  all  the  quali 
ties  to  win  hearts,  but  they  seemed  to  have  been  so 
smothered  by  some  blight  that  it  was  only,  at  times  one 
knew  that  he  was  not  the  heartless,  sullen,  and  taciturn 
man  he  seemed  to  be.  When  I  met  him  for  the  first 
time  in  Singapore,  he  was  doing  business  there  for  some 
firm,  but  shortly  after,  at  my  suggestion,  he  gave  up  his 
position  and  accompanied  me  to  Calcutta,  where  I  had  al 
ready  invested  some  capital  in  an  English  house.  I  ob 
tained  for  him  a  position  in  the  same  house,  and  we 
became  such  warm  friends  that  he  occasionally  gave  me 
scraps  of  confidence  which  wonderfully  enhanced  my  inter 
est  in  him.  lie  was  an  excellent  sportsman,  and  one  of 
the  memories  that  I  shall  never  forget,  is  of  his  face 
when  he,  with  some  others,  were  out  for  a  day's  hunting 
in  the  jungles.  At  such  times  he  seemed  to  be  like  an 
other  being,  and  his  courage  in  pursuing  and  attacking 
the  fierce  beasts  was  a  source  of  envy  to  more  than  one  of 
us. 

"  On  one  occasion  he  and  I,  owing  to  his  ardor  in  the 
hunt,  an  ardor  which  I  unconsciously  caught,  became 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  we  found  our- 
soives  actually  on  the  lair  of  a  tiger  with  her  cubs.  The 
tiger  we  dispatched  after  some  trouble  and  a  scratch  or 
two  11^)011  ourselves,  but  the  two  cubs,  uti-ange  to  say, 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  143 

Klipp  would  bring  home  alive  with  liim.  No  argument 
of  mine  would  dissuade  liim  from  his  project,  nor  make 
him  see  that  he  would  get  just  as  much  for  the  skins, 
which  we  could  take  off  as  we  had  already  taken  the 
mother's,  and  at  the  same  time  be  spared  the  trouble  of 
of  carrying  the  live  beasts.  Pie  would  have  his  way,  and 
I  was  forced  to  carry  one  of  the  cubs,  while  he  took  the 
other.  Our  great  fear  was  to  meet  the  father  of  the  ani 
mals,  unless,  perhaps,  he  had  been  met  and  dispatched 
already  by  some  of  our  party.  Our  stock  of  ammunition 
was  very  low,  so  we  courted  no  more  game,  but  made 
our  way  to  civilized  haunts  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  Then  Klipp  stated  his  object  in  bringing  the  cubs 
alive.  Only  a  day  or  two  before,  a  female  tiger  captured 
for  some  zoological  show  that  was  to  leave  for  England  in 
a  few  months,  had  given  birth  to  cubs  which  had  died. 
The  grief  of  the  beast,  they  said,  was  excessive,  and 
Klipp,  with  his  great,  kindly  heart,  thought  of  her  when 
he  saw  the  cubs  in  the  jungle. 

"And  the  bereaved  tigress  actually  welcomed  the  little 
strangers,  and  fondled  them  as  if  they  were  indeed  her 
own  departed  ones.  At.  which  Klipp,  to  my  surprise, 
looked  disgusted. 

"  '  Her  nature  is  as  little  to  be  relied  upon  as  if  it  were 
human,'  he  said  to  me ;  and  when  I  laughed,  he  said 
again  : 

"  '  They  say  parental  instinct  is  so  strong  that  in  the 
face  of  any  deception  a  father  would  recognize  his  child  ; 
but  it  is  not  so.' ': 

Up  to  this  point  of  the  story,  no  one  save  Mrs.  Doloran 
had  manifested  anything  but  a  polite  interest ;  now,  how 
ever,  Mr.  Edgar  wTas  sitting  erect,  his  face  as  pale  as  the 
snowy  bosom  of  his  shirt,  and  his  eyes  flaming  through 
Ordotte.  But  he,  pretending  not  to  notice  the  sudden 
and  strangely  awakened  interest,  proceeded  : 

"  As  I  said  before,  Klipp  was  a  very  strange  man ;  in 
deed,  some  thought  that  his  mind  was  not  altogether 
sound,  but  those  people  did  not  know  the  singular  events 


144  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

in  his  life.  He  went  every  day  to  see  that  tiger  and  her 
adopted  children,  and  every  day  he  returned  more  and 
more  disappointed  and  disgusted  with  her  increased  fond 
ness  for  them. 

"  One  day,  in  his  deep  disgust,  he  said  to  me : 

"  £  We  are  all  brutes,  and  a  man  may  be  pardoned 
when  lie  does  a  great  wrong  because  of  his  brutish  nature. 
I  expected  to  see  in  that  animal  something  that  would 
shame  us  men ;  an  instinct  that  would  make  her  turn 
away  from  these  strange  cubs,  and  not  receive  them  as 
men  do  who  have  other  children  palmed  upon  them  for 
their  own.' ' 

The  perspiration  was  standing  on  Mr.  Edgar's  brow, 
and  the  fingers  of  the  hand  that  rested  on  Ids  knee  worked 
convulsively. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  who  was  angry  that  Ordotte  had  not 
told  her  that  Indian  story,  could  contain  herself  no 
longer : 

"  Why  did  you  keep  that  tale  from  me,  Mascar  ?  "  she 
said  with  indignant  reproach. 

He  answered  with  a  laughable  assumption  of  penitence 
and  humility : 

"  My  dear  madam,  it  was  hardly  of  a  kind  to  interest 
you ;  but  Mr.  Edgar,"  with  a  profound  bow  to  that 
gentleman,  "  has,  no  doubt,  encountered  so  many  strange 
phases  of  character  that  I  thought  it  would  not  be  un 
interesting  to  add  one  of  my  experiences  to  his  own." 

The  lady  was  somewhat  mollified :  "Well,  Mascar,  I 
shall  forgive  you.  And  now  finish  the  tale." 

"  The  tale  is  finished,"  with  another  bow,  and  a  quick, 
sharp  look  at  Edgar. 

"  But  Klipp,  and  the  cubs,  and  the  dear  old  tiger,  what 
became  of  them  all  2 "  asked  Mrs.  Doloran,  her  voice 
raised  in  trembling  eagerness. 

"  The  dear  old  tigress  and  her  cubs  were  taken  to 
England  ;  and  Kipp,  I  left  him  in  Calcutta." 

"  Couldn't  you  ask  him  to  come  here  ?  O  Mascar,  it 
would  be  delightful !  Just  write  and  invite  him  here." 


A    FATAL    K  i  SEMBLANCE.  145 

And  her  gushing  eagerness  set  the  plumes  on  her  head  to 
quivering  in  a  most  ludicrous  manner. 

"  I  can't  do  that  very  well,"  answered  Ordotte,  steal 
ing  again  a  sly,  sharp  look  at  Edgar,  "  owing  to  Klipp 
having  left  Calcutta  without  leaving  any  trace  of  h:* 
destination ;  so  letters  from  my  Indian  friends  informed 
me  over  a  year  ago.  But  if  you  wish,  Mrs.  Doloran,  1 
could  write  to  the  managers  of  the  zoological  show  >n 
London,  inviting  the  tigress  and  her  cubs  here,  providing 
the  interesting  beast  is  still  alive.  They  might  consent 
to  let  them  come." 

The  last  part  of  his  speech  being  spoken  with  the  same 
imperturable  gravity  and  earnestness  that  the  former  had 
been,  rendered  it  irresistibly  comic,  and  Ned,  who  had 
paid  but  little  attention  to  the  story,  laughed  in  spite  of 
herself ;  but  Mrs.  Doloran  arose,  and  said  with  offended 
dignity : 

"  No,  sir,  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  I  shall  not 
have  Ilahandabed  turned  into  a  jungle." 

Mascar  dropped  on  one  knee  in  front  of  her,  and  clasp 
ing  his  hands,  said  with  an  excellent  assumption  of  the 
tragio-comic  air  that  it  convulsed  with  laughter  most  of 
those  who  witnessed  it : 

"  Pardon,  a  thousand  pardons,  madam ;  I  but  thought 
to  minister  to  that  inherent  love  of  nature  which  in  you 
is  so  beautifully  developed.  On  my  bended  knee  I  as 
sure  you  that  I  shall  not  write  for  the  illustrious  tigress." 

It  was  of  little  moment  to  Mrs.  Doloran  that  such 
speeches  and  attitudes  made  her  supremely  ridiculous : 
they  gave  her  prominence  in  her  own  eyes,  and  that  grati 
fied  her  vanity ;  then  the  homage  of  Ordotte,  assumed 
and  ludicrous  though  it  was,  pandered  to  her  innate 
vulgar  love  of  display ;  she  might  be  laughed  at,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  if  she  could  attract  attention,  it  made  little 
difference  to  her.  She  had  the  one  comfort  of  vulgar 
minds — the  thought  of  her  wealth,  which  in  the  eves  of 
many  covered  all  her  oddities. 

And  so  she  said,  with,  what  she  considered  a  graceful 


146  A     FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

bending  of  her  person  to  the  suppliant,  and  a  pretty  tapping 

£   1    •  1  1  •  j.1      1  J? 

01  ms  cheek  with  Jier  ian : 

"  When  you  sue  for  forgiveness  in  such  a  manner,  I  can 
not  refuse  you." 

Mr.  Edgar  looked  and  acted  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
in  an  unpleasant  dream.  Uis  face  still  retained  its  snowy 
pallor,  and  as  if  that  bleached  hue  had  driven  out  the 
lines  upon  his  forehead  and  about  his  mouth,  they  ap 
peared  more  numerous  and  prominent  than  they  had  done 
since  his  arrival.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Ordotte,  nor 
did  they  seem  to  have  the  power  of  withdrawing  them 
selves  until  his  daughter,  escorted  by  Brekbellew,  came 
up  to  him.  She  arrived  in  the  very  middle  of  Ordotte's 
ludicrous  plea  for  pardon,  and  with  difficulty  preserved 
her  composure  ;  the  poor  sheep  by  her  side  so  lived  in  her 

presence  that  he  scarcely  saw  the  laughable  incident  be- 
j*       i  • 
lore  him. 

How  beautiful  she  looked  ;  not  a  trace  of  any  secret 
grief,  or  recent  emotion  about  her  ;  certainly  nothing  to 
indicate  that  she  felt  even  half  as  much  as  Ned  felt  the 
terrible  thing  that  had  happened. 

Yigor  and  joy  seemed  to  return  to  Mr.  Edgar  with  the 
advent  of  his  (laughter;  it  was  as  if  her  presence  dissi 
pated  some  ugly  unreality ;  and  he  rose,  thanked  Brek 
bellew  for  his  attention,  and  immediately  transferred  her 
to  his  own  arm. 

"  Edna  and  I  will  have  a  little  saunter  together,"  he 
said,  bowing  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  "  and  later,"  turning  his 
eyes  to  Ordotte,  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  some  conver 
sation  with  this  gentleman." 

"All!  his  Indian  stories  have  interested  you,  then," 
said  Mrs.  Doloran  enthusiastically. 

"  Yes  ;  a  little,"  replied  Edgar  with  some  hesitation,  as 
if  afraid  to  commit  himself. 

And  he  turned  rather  hastily  away  with  his  daughter. 

JSTe<l  watched  them.  She  wondered  if  her  cousin  would 
tell  her  father  then  of  her  ghastly  discovery,  or  if  she 
would  wait  until  the  morning.  They  turned  away  in  the 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE  14:7 

direction  of  the  conservatory  and,  at  the  same  time,  Mrs. 
Doloran  called  Ned  to  accompany  her  and  Mascar  ;  they 
were  going  to  attend  to  some  detail  of  the  illumination 
that  was  to  take  place  at  midnight. 

XXX. 

The  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Ordotte  that  Mr.  Edgar 
desired,  arrived  just  before  the  guests  went  out  to  view 
the  illumination.  Edna  having  been  claimed  by  Carnew 
for  the  songs  which  she  sang  so  well,  and  to  which  it  was 
his  delight  to  listen,  had  gone  with  him  to  the  music- 
room,  and  Mrs.  Doloran  having  disappeared  to  change  her 
toilet  for  one  as  gorgeous  perhaps,  but  a  little  more  suit 
able  for  the  grounds,  Mascar  was  for  the  moment  free. 
He  had  not  forgotten  Edgar's  wish  to  converse  with  him, 
and  seeing  that  gentleman  apparently  holding  a  sort  of 
dreary  conversation  with  Brekbellew,  he  went  up  to  him. 

Edgar  changed  color ;  he  was  aware  that  he  did  so,  and 
he  fancied  that  Ordotte's  eyes  twinkled  mischievously  at 
the  sight.  He  chafed  secretly  that  it  should  be  so,  with 
out  well  knowing  why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  any  need 
to  give  such  an  exhibition  of  his  feeling,  and,  in  J;lie 
second  place,  why  he  should  care  particularly  for  what 
Ordotte  thought.  But  that  gentleman  said  in  his  easy, 
familiar  way : 

"  Thinking  that  Mr.  Brekbellew  would  like  to  go  to  the 
music-room,  I  came  to  offer  you  my  company." 

Brekbellew  was  intensely  grateful ;  his  heart  and  his 
eyes  had  followed  Edna  when  she  went  away  leaning 
upon  Carnew's  arm,  and  though,  through  politeness,  he  had 
offered  to  remain  with  her  father,  he  had  found  it  difficult 
to  concentrate  sufficient  attention  on  what  Mr.  Edgar  was 
saying  to  be  able  to  reply  intelligently.  To  be  delivered 
then  from  such  a  situation,  and  to  be  free  to  go  after  his 
heart's  idol,  and  to  imagine  also  that  Ordotte  had  come  to 
his  rescue  purely  for  his  (Brekbellew's)  benefit,  was  some 
thing  to  make  his  breast  swell  with  gratitude,  and  his  poor 


14:8  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

little  insipid  face  kindled  as  lie  looked  liis  thanks  to  his 
deliverer,  and  murmuring  to  Mr.  Edgar  a  polite  excuse 
for  availing  himself  of  the  opportunity  offered,  he  hurried 
away. 

Edgar  and  Ordotte  looked  at  each  other  after  his  de 
parture  ;  a  look  on  the  part  of  the  one  that  told  of  hidden 
fear  and  agony  ;  on  the  other,  of  contempt  and  triumph. 
But  each  look  was  so  brief,  the  faces  returning  immedi 
ately  to  their  wonted  expression,  that  a  spectator  might 
imagine  all  to  be  only  the  outcome  of  his  own  heated 
fancy. 

Edgar  was  the  first  to  speak : 

"  Your  Indian  tale  had  a  deeper  and  more  subtle  point 
than  you  cared  to  have  appear  on  its  surface." 

Ordotte  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Every  tale,  every  common  incident  of  life,  may  have 
its  deep  and  subtle  point  if  our  consciences  are  pricked." 

"  What  do  yon  mean  ? " 

There  was  suppressed  passion  in  Edgar's  low  tones. 

"  Nothing,  save  as  you  interpret  it.  As  I  told  you  in 
the  preface  of  my  story,  I  have  had  much  experience 
with  the  different  phases  of  human  nature.  Men  have 
been,  and  are  my  study,  and  when  I  speak,  it  is  out  of  the 
fulness  of  a  heart  that  often,  unawares,  lias  touched  the 
keynote  of  another's  secret  trouble.  Whether  I  have  done 
so  in  your  case,  I  leave  you  to  judge." 

Edgar  stared  at  him.  Who  was  this  man  who  seemed 
to  know  his  secret  trouble  ?  For,  despite  his  love  for  Edna, 
and  his  absolute  conviction  that  she  was  his  daughter,  at 
times  a  strange  haunting  doubt  mingled  with  it  all. 
Fight  the  doubt  he  did,  and  crush  it ;  but  it  rose  again, 
and  with  it  rose  more  than  once  Ned's  face  in  mute  re 
proach.  What,  if  she  after  all  were  his  child,  and  that 
all  those  years  he  had  been  holding  to  his  heart  the 
daughter  of  a  woman  of  loose  and  low  character  ? 

Ordotte's  tale  had  roused  anew  these  horrid  doubts,  and 
they  raged  until  they  were  dissipated  by  Edna's  presence, 
which  he  had  hailed  as  a  drowning  mariner  might  hail  a 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  149 

plank.  Now,  however,  they  were  back  in  greater  fury. 
He  stooped  toward  Ordotte,  and  said  in  a  broken  whisper 
that  was  somewhat  painful : 

"  If  you  have  guessed  that  I  have  a  secret  trouble,  you 
have  guessed  well.  Whether  your  intuitive  knowledge 
leads  you  to  think  it  is  a  crime  also,  I  know  not.  I  only 
ask,  I  adjure  you  to  tell  me  if  vou  are  in  possession  of 
any  secret  that  will  help  me." 

Ordotte  rose.  Perhaps  he  felt  it  was  time  to  end  the 
conversation ;  it  was  coming  so  near  a  dangerous  border. 
Edgar  rose  also. 

"  No,  Mr.  Edgar ;  you  are  wrong  in  thinking  that  I  am 
in  possession  of  any  secret  of  yours,  or  that  it  is  in  my 
power  to  help  you.  I  have  learned  to  read  faces  a  little, 
and  your  face  has  given  me  my  knowledge  of  your 
character." 

"  An  unfavorable  knowledge,  eh  ? " 

Spoken  with  almost  a  child's  eagerness,  and  of  which 
speech  he  was  heartily  ashamed  the  moment  he  had 
uttered  it. 

But  Ordotte  answered  with  a  gravity  that  was  almost 
sorrowful : 

"  I  fancy  that  you  have  been  blinded  in  many  instances 
by  pride  and  self-will.  But  pardon  me,  Mr.  Edgar,  for 
my  great  freedom  of  speech.  As  you  have  found  out  by 
this  time,  I  am  an  odd  fellow.  Here  is  Mrs.  Doloraii " — 
spoken  with  such  a  change  of  voice  that  it  seemed  like 
another  person — "  bearing  down  upon  us,  and  armed  with 
all  the  accoutrements  of  war,  to  judge  from  the  glistening 
tilings  about  her." 

The  glistening  things,  as  Ordotte  termed  them,  consisted 
of  a  silver  banded  cloak  that  was  already  about  the  lady's 
ample  person,  and  a  veil  of  silver  tissue  thrown  over  her 
nodding  plumes.  In  her  wake  followed  Ned,  looking 
more  ready  to  weep  than  to  laugh,  and  wishing  with  a 
sick  heart  that  the  night's  festivities  were  over. 

Supper  was  to  be  served  immediately  after  the  illumi 
nation,  and  as  the  guests  passed  into  the  grounds  there 


150  A   FATAL    EESEMBLAJSTC-E. 

could  be  heard  the  clatter  of  the  servants'  work  in  the 
dining-hall.  Somehow,  Ned  connected  the  sounds  with 
the  falling  of  clods  upon  a  coffin,  and  when  the  handsome 
and  many-colored  lights  broke  upon  her  view,  showing  a 
scene  so  weirdly  and  picturesquely  beautiful  that  the 
guests  became  enthusiastic  in  their  admiration,  she  saw 
everywhere  the  still  white  face  under  the  sheet  in  the 
out-house. 

After  supper,  Mrs.  Doloran  would  put  into  execution 
her  pet  scheme  of  exhibiting  herself  and  her  guest  on  the 
dais.  She  had  the  colors  arranged  purposely  to  throw 
into  startling  effect  her  own  already  startling  costume,  and 
now  since  Mr.  Edgar  was  so  handsome  and  so  distinguish 
ed-looking,  he  would  certainly  add  to  her  appearance 
there.  Seated  in  that  elevated  position,  she  would  be 
what  she  wanted  to  be  at  all  times,  the  cynosure  of  every 
eye,  and  even,  as  in  her  vain,  secret,  unstable  heart  she 
wanted  to  do,  enhance  Ordotte's  admiration  for  her.  It 
did  not  occur  to  her  what  her  guest  might  think  of  such 
a  proceeding ;  as  her  guest,  he  would  be  obliged  to  ac 
quiesce  politely  in  what  she  wished,  and  her  absurd  vanity 
cloaked  everything  else.  But  Alan  was  watching  her. 
He  had  watched  her  secretly  all  nig] it,  throwing  many  a 
covert,  but  angry  glance  at  the  dais,  which  he  felt  was 
destined  to  bring  him  new  shame.  So,  when  his  aunt  was 
designedly  leading  Mr.  Edgar  to  that  part  of  the  room, 
Carnew  wliispered  his  fears  to  Edna,  whom  he  had  been 
escorting  since  supper. 

"  Let  us  forestall  her,"  said  Edna  mischievously  ;  "  it 
will  hardly  be  as  ridiculous  for  us  to  mount  there,  as  for 
your  aunt  in  her  absurd  costume,  and  my  father,  who 
certainly  will  not  like  it.  And  we  can  keep  the  places  so 
long  that  she  may  lose  the  desire  to  do  likewise." 

He  1  railed  the  suggestion,  and  together  they  hurried, 
easily  getting  in  advance  of  Mrs.  Doloran,  who  did  not 
dream  of  their  desire,  until  to  her  amazement  she  saw 
Miss  Edgar  in  the  very  place  designed  for  herself,  and  be 
side  her,  her  provoking  nephew. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  15i 

Anger  made  her  dumb  for  the  moment ;  then  her 
wrath  burst  out  regardless  even  of  the  presence  of  her 
escort : 

"  How  dared  they  ?  Those  seats  were  intended  for  us. 
But  I  shall  order  them  down  immediately." 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind  ! "  It  was  Ordotte's  voice 
just  behind  her.  He  had  seen  and  divined  the  purport 
of  Carnew's  manoeuvre,  and  he  had  hastened  to  Mrs. 
Doloran  to  prevent,  if  he  could,  the  outbreak  which  he 
feared  would  follow. 

He  continued : 

"  The  lady  and  gentleman  who  are  in  the  places  fill 
them  very  acceptably,  and  Mr.  Edgar,  did  you  invite  him 
to  such  a  position,  might  plead  his  inability,  or  his  reluc 
tance  to  be  raised  to  so  great  an  elevation." 

She  was  hardly  mollified,  but  Ordotte  rattled  on,  and 
Edgar,  were  he  not  so  heart-sore  and  disgusted,  might 
have  found  it  in  him  to  laugh  at  the  ludicrous  positions  in 
which  this  woman  delighted  to  place  herself. 

Edna  and  Carnew  did  fill  the  places  very  acceptably 
and  most  becomingly.  The  bright  colors  of  the  dais 
harmonized  well  with  her  simple  white  costume,  and  the 
dark  beauty  of  her  blushing  face  was  never  seen  to  better 
advantage.  Looked  at  there,  as  she  sat  in  most  graceful 
attitude  with  her  head  modestly  drooping,  she  was  an 
exquisite  creature,  and  Edgar's  heart  beat  once  more  with 
all  a  father's  swelling  triumph  and  admiration.  She  was 
his  child.  No  doubt  could  move  him  from  that  convic 
tion.  Perhaps  her  beauty  assumed  even  a  deeper  hue 
from  contrast  with  the  young,  erect,  and  handsome  man  by 
her  side,  and  many  a  female  heart  in  the  little  assembly 
sickened  from  pangs  of  its  own  jealousy  and  envy. 
When,  to  throw  a  little  playfulness  into  the  impromptu 
scene,  and  make  the  guests  think  it  was  a  premeditated 
pantomime,  he,  with  a  talent  which  no  one  suspected  was 
in  him,  feigned  to  be  the  wooing  lover  of  a  sly,  coy,  and 
bashful  maiden,  Edna  took  the  cue,  and  the  little  pan 
tomime  went  well  and  gracefully  on,  to  the  guests'  in- 


152  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tense  surprise  and  delight.  Even  Mrs.  Doloran  was  won 
at  last,  and  she  applauded  and  laughed  louder  than  any 
body  else. 

But  Ned  was  silent  and  shivering.  The  pantomime 
was  but  a  succession  of  pangs  to  her,  for,  now  that  Edna 
was  free  to  marry,  would  not  all  this  dumb  show  of  love 
on  Carnew's  part  become  a  reality  ?  What  fortune  seemed 
to  surround  the  girl — a  happy  home,  a  tender  father,  and 
now  the  removal  of  the  very  consequences  of  her  own 
imprudent,  if  not  erring  act,  that  would  have  impeded 
her  marriage  witli  a  rare  good  man,  as  Ned  regarded 
Alan ;  while  she,  who  had  no  real  home,  no  father,  and 
who  loved  Carnew  with  all  the  strengtli  of  her  large,  lov 
ing  heart,  must  stifle  her  affection  and  behold  him  the 
husband  of  another — and  such  another.  In  her  bitterness 
she  almost  wished  that  Annie  Mackay  would  reveal  her 
brother's  marriage.  Then  she  was  frightened  at  herself  for 
having  such  a  desire,  involuntary  and  brief  as  it  was. 
Still,  if  Edna  did  but  show  even  in  her  countenance  a  lit 
tle  trace  of  feeling  for  what  they  had  both  endured  in 
the  early  part  of  the  evening,  Ned  imagined  that  she 
would  not  feel  quite  so  bitter.  But  the  longer  Ned  looked 
ed  at  her,  the  brighter  grew  the  lovely  face,  and  it  was 
only  too  evident  that  no  shadow  of  the  dead  man  rested 
upon  her. 

The  festivities  closed,  and  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Carnew,  without  the  further  exhibition  of  tiny  ridicu 
lous  whim  by  Mrs.  Doloran.  He  seemed  to  feel  that 
it  was  due  to  Edna's  timely  thought.  Accordingly,  he 
was  very  grateful,  and  he  said  his  good-night  to  her  with 
a  tenderness  that  set  her  cheeks  glowing  and  her  heart 
beating  violently.  She  had  hardly  recovered  from  her 
emotion,  when  her  father,  who  had  found  it  impossible, 
without  a  rudeness  of  which  he  was  not  capable,  to  leave 
Mrs.  Doloran  until  that  moment,  came  up  to  her  to  give 
her  his  escort  to  her  room.  But  at  his  own  sumptuous 
apartment,  which  was  just  above  one  of  the  parlors,  he 
stopped  suddenly,  and  opening  the  door  drew  her  in  with 


A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  153 

him.  She  wondered  somewhat,  and  was  a  little  bit  dis 
mayed,  for  her  guilty  conscience  sent  up  its  fears  at  once. 
Still,  his  manner  was  that  of  inimitable  tenderness ;  and 
when,  having  closed  the  door  behind  them,  he  drew  her 
forward  until  the  softened  light  from  a  large  shaded  lam]") 
fell  full  upon  her  face,  and  folding  his  arms  about  her,  said 
with  a  voice  so  tremulous  and  strange  it  hardly  seemed  to 
be  her  father : 

"  O  my  daughter ! "  Her  own  feelings  gave  way,  and 
she  cried  upon  his  bosom,  lie  felt  her  tears  and  thought 
they  were  the  evidence  of  her  affection  for  him,  of  her 
sympathy  writh  his  own  emotions,  at  once  so  intense  and 
so  inexplicable.  He  did  not  dream  that  her  tears  were 
those  of  relief ;  relief  from  the  horrid  fears  his  strange 
manner  to  her  had  engendered,  for  she  knew  not  what 
might  have  become  known  to  him.  Now,  however,  that 
she  was  assured  her  secrets  were  still  safe,  his  paternal 
love  still  undiminished,  she  grew  confident  and  demon 
strative  in  her  return  of  his  affection.  She  wound  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  she  drew  his  face  down  to  her  owrn, 
and  she  held  him  as  if  she  would  never  let  him  go. 

"  My  own,  own  child ! "  he  murmured,  with  a  peculiar 
and  lingering  emphasis  on  the  word  own  ;  and  lie  con 
tinued  to  repeat  the  phrase  as  if  there  was  a  balm  in  it  for 
his  doubting  and  agonized  heart. 

Never  had  Edna  known  him  to  be  so  demonstratively 
tender,  and  encouraged  by  that  fact  she  was  more  than 
once  on  the  point  of  telling  him  .of  young  Mackay's  sui 
cide.  Something  whispered  that  it  would  be  easier  to 
make  the  revelation  nowr,  than  to  defer  it  until  the  morn 
ing.  Yet  an  inexplicable  fear  restrained  her,  until  he 
said,  noticing  that  she  continued  to  weep  : 

"  Why  do  you  cry,  still,  my  child  ?  Surely  you  are  not 
unhappy." 

"  Ah,  papa,  not  unhappy  myself,  but  unhappy  for 
others." 

Again  he  folded  her  up  to  him. 

"My  darling!     You  have  your  mother's  tender  heart. 


154:  A    FATAL    RKSKMBLANCE. 

Did  only  a  servant  have  a  sorrow  which  she  heard,  she 
made  it  her  own.  For  whom,  my  child,  do  you  weep  ? " 

She  lifted  her  streaming  face. 

"  They  have  discovered  that  the  suicide  who  was  found 
on  the  grounds,  papa,  is  Mr.  Mackay's  son,  Dick." 

"What!"  and  with  his  exclamation  he  started  from 
her  in  wonder  and  dismay ;  he  asked  rapidly,  and  it 
seemed  to  her — fear-stricken  as  she  had  again  become — 
sternly : 

"  Who  recognized  him  !  " 

Her  cowardly  heart,  lest  she  should  be  asked  for  expla 
nations  which  she  would  be  unable  to  make,  would  not 
let  her  say  as  truth  demanded :  "  I  did,"  and  though  a 
moment  before  she  had  not  intended  to  tell  a  lie,  now  she 
said  without  faltering : 

"  Ned  came  to  my  room  to  ask  me  to  accompany  her 
to  see  him." 

"  Did  she  know  that  the  suicide  was  young  Mackay  ?  " 

How  stern  was  his  voice ;  Edna  cowered  from  it,  and 
cowered  from  him  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I  don't  know.  She  only  came  to  me  to  go  with  her, 
and  we  both  saw  that  it  was  he." 

"  And  her  manner  while  she  looked  at  him,"  the  stern 
voice  resumed,  "  was  it  such  as  to  make  you  think  there 
had  been  any  great  affection  between  them  ? " 

4  I  don't  know.  After  looking  a  moment  she  said  she 
was  getting  ill,  and  we  returned." 

Edgar  said  again,  but  more  as  if  he  were  talking  to 
himself : 

"  My  surmises  have  been  correct ;  there  must  have 
been  some  bond  of  affection  between  them,  or  else  why 
should  lie  come  here  to  die  ?  She,  perhaps,  actuated  by  a 
late  prudence,  has  refused  to  reciprocate  his  affection,  and 
he  may  have  been  driven  by  his  despair  to  this  deed.  In 
any  case,  I  feel  that  his  death  lies  at  her  door." 

"  Oh,  my  darling ! "  suddenly  approaching  her  and 
again  folding  her  to  him  :  "  that  I  have  subjected  you  for 
any  time  to  the  influence  of  this  woman !  " 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  155 

"0  papa!  do  not  be  too  hard  upon  her;  women 
sometimes  cannot  help  being  weak,  and  she  may  not  have 
been  guilty  of  what  you  think." 

Her  own  fears  that  she  had  gone  too  far  in  criminat 
ing  Ned,  and  that  the  meshes  she  had  woven  about  an 
other  might  extend  far  enough  to  entangle  herself,  made 
her  earnest  and  touching  in  her  plea  for  her  cousin.  But 
her  father  answered : 

"  It  is  your  gentle  charity  which  urges  all  this ;  you 
are  too  guileless  to  suspect  the  wrong-doing  of  others. 
And  has  she  proclaimed  the  discovery  she  has  made,  or 
does  she  mean  to  let  the  poor  wretch  fill  an  unknown 
grave?" 

"  O  papa ! "  with  a  passionate  burst  of  tears,  "  she 
asked  me  if  I  would  tell  you  that  we  had  recognized 
him." 

"  Asked  you,  to  tell  me  f  "  he  repeated ;  "  she  would  not 
dare  to  tell  me  herself,  feeling,  no  doubt,  that  I  should 
penetrate  whatever  mask  she  might  assume." 

In  his  indignation  ho  forgot  that  his  own  coldness 
to  Ned  must  have  imposed  a  most  effectual  barrier  to 
any  voluntary  communication  on  her  part. 

lie  was  silent  then,  recalling  the  sad,  pale,  anxious  face 
which  his  niece  wore  all  the  evening,  a  face  in  such  unfavor 
able  contrast  to  the  bright,  happy-looking  one  of  his  daugh 
ter.  That  was  another  and  a  strong  link  in  the  chain  of 
corroborative  evidence  against  the  unfortunate  girl ;  the 
bad  blood  of  her  low  mother  was  showing  in  her,  and  once 
more  the  doubts  raised  by  Ordotte's  tale  were  allayed.  He 
was  more  convinced  than  ever  that  Edna  was  his  child. 

Edna  continued  to  weep,  more  from  her  secret  fears 
than  any  other  cause,  and  when  she  saw  that  her  father 
was  still  absorbed  in  his  stern  reverie,  she  said  with  a 
sob: 

"  Eorgive  her,  papa ! " 

He  roused  himself.  To  her  dying  day  she  never  for 
got  the  expression  of  his  countenance.  Her  novel-read 
ing  had  given  her  a  vague  idea  of  stern  and  vindictive- 


156  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

looking  faces,  but  this  one,  with  its  compressed  month, 
its  rigid  lines,  its  corrugated  brow,  and  more  than  all,  its 
flaming,  piercing  eyes,  was  much  more  terrible  than  any 
thing  she  had  ever  imagined.  After  that  first  wild  look 
at  it,  she  felt  that  she  must  scream  with  terror  if  she  saw 
it  again,  and  she  covered  her  own  countenance  with  her 
hands. 

"  Forgive  her !  Was  it  you,  Edna,  my  own  daughter, 
who  had  done  a  tiling  like  this,  my  heart  and  my  home 
should  be  closed  to  you  at  once  and  forever.  Provide 
for  you  I  might  at  a  distance,  but  never  should  I  consent 
to  see  again  a  woman  who  could  so  degrade  her  family 
by  stooping  to  such  an  affection ;  a  daughter  who  could 
so  disgrace  her  father  by  receiving  for  a  moment  clan 
destine  attentions,  and  from  a  suitor  so  much  beneath  her. 
Ned  is  to  me  now,  and  shall  be  henceforth  an  utter 
stranger." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Edna,  taking  her  hands  from  her 
face,  and  keeping  her  eyes  down,  "  you  will  not  tell  these 
suspicions  of  yours  to  any  one — you  will  not  let  Mr.  Mac- 
kay  know— 

u  No,"  he  interrupted,  "  for  the  satisfaction  of  your 
poor,  little,  tender,  foolish  heart,  I  shall  promise  you  that 
nothing  of  this  shall  pass  my  lips  to  any  one.  It  would 
do  little  good  now,  since  the  poor  wretch  is  beyond  all 
earthly  help,  and  it  might  only  add  to  the  grief  of  his  poor 
old  father  to  feel  that,  at  the  bottom  of  it,  was  a  woman 
who  had  been  one  of  my  household.  Let  Ned  keep  her 
guilty  secret,  if  it  be  through  her,  as  I  now  firmly  be 
lieve  it  to  be,  that  this  man  has  come  to  his  death.  I 
shall  not  reveal  it." 

That  assurance  made  her  tears  cease  to  flow,  and  well 
knowing  there  was  no  danger  of  any  private  conversation 
between  Ned  and  her  father,  in  which  perhaps  her  false 
hoods  might  be  detected,  she  looked  up  and  became  some 
thing  of  herself  again. 

"  I  had  decided  to  leave  here  to-morrow,  Edna,  "  Mr. 
Edgar  said,  "and  now  all  that  you  liave  told  me  makes 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  157 

me  more  eager  to  go.  I  shall  give  orders  for  the  trans 
portation  of  poor  Mackay's  body  to  his  home.  Plis 
father  is  a  worthy  old  man,  and  deserved  a  better  son 
than  that  scapegrace." 

"  To-morrow  ?  "  repeated  Edna. 

"  Yes  ;  you  can  be  ready,  can  yon  not  ?  I  am  most 
anxious  to  remove  yon  from  many  influences  here — that 
ill-bred,  coarse  Mrs.  Doloran,  and  Ned.  With  Carnew 
I  am  charmed.  It  seems  one  of  the  strange  freaks  of  na 
ture  that  he  should  be  so  nearly  related  to  that  vulgar 
woman." 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa ;  I  can  be  ready,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  go." 

And  that  assertion  was  truthful ;  she  was  glad  to  get 
away  from  meeting  Ned.  Knowing  how  she  had  calum 
niated  her,  she  was  not  yet  so  hardened  in  guilt  as 
not  to  feel  a  little  qualm  of  conscience  for  her  fiendish 
work.  Her  great  hope  was  that  their  departure  might 
be  so  hurried  as  to  leave  no  time  for  a  private  interview 
with  her  cousin.  For  Carnew  there  was  no  regret  at 
leaving  him ;  since  her  father  admired  him  so  much,  she 
knew  he  would  be  invited  to  Weewald  Place,  and  she 
doubted  not  his  immediate  acceptance  of  the  invitation. 

XXXI. 

The  events  of  the  succeeding  day,  with  that  strange 
fate  whicli  is  often  more  propitious  to  the  evil-doer  than 
to  the  good,  were  quite  in  accordance  with  Edna's  secret 
wishes.  Her  father,  unable  to  sleep  after  she  left  him,' 
waited  only  the  first  glimmer  of  the  dawn  to  go  and  look 
at  the  suicide.  And  he  remained  so  long  by  the  side  of 
the  dead  man,  impelled  to  his  unseemly  vigil  by  a 
strange  fascination,  that  he  was  found  there  by  some  of 
the  servants.  Later,  when  it  was  by  his  order  the  body 
was  prepared  for  removal  to  Barrytown,  everybody  be 
lieved  that  it  was  he,  who,  in  taking  an  early  stroll  about 
the  grounds,  had  recognized  the  dead  man.  Nor  did 


158  A    FATAL    KEJSiJMBLA.NO.EJ. 

Edgar  drop  a  word  to  contradict  the  belief.  For  Mrs. 
Doloran,  when  she  heard  that  her  guest  was  bent  upon 
his  departure,  and  that,  immediately  after  the  late  break 
fast,  her  anger  knew  no  bounds. 

Nice  return  for  her  hospitality  to  take  himself  away 
just  as  she  thought  she  should  enjoy  him.  She  hated 
him  now,  and  hoped  she  would  never  meet  him  again. 
And  when  Alan  came  to  say  that  Mr.  Edgar  was  wait 
ing  to  bid  her  adieu,  sho  refused  to  see  him,  nor  would 
she  permit  Ned,  who  was  really  ill  enough  looking  to 
be  in  her  bed,  to  leave  her  for  a  moment,  lest  she  perhaps 
should  say  a  courteous  farewell. 

And  so  Alan  had  to  apologize  with  what  grace  he  might, 
for  his  aunt's  lack  of  courtesy. 

IIo  was,  however,  assured  by  Mr.  Edgar's  manner,  and 
by  that  gentleman's  earnest  invitation  to  himself  to  visit 
Weewald  Place,  that  Mrs.  Doloran's  eccentricities  were 
quite  understood. 

"  But  Ned,  papa,"  said  Edna,  with  a  charming  warmth 
"  I  cannot  go  without  bidding  her  adieu." 

Mr.  Edgar,  in  the  indignation  that  the  very  mention 
of  Ned's  name  aroused,  forgot  for  the  moment  the  pres 
ence  of  Alan,  and  answered  sternly  : 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  you  should  not  see  her."  After 
which  his  daughter  said  no  more,  but  dropped  her 
eyes  very  becomingly,  and  appeared  to  be  somewhat 
sorrowful.  Carnew  was  disturbed  and  pained.  Linking 
what  Miss  Edgar  had  told  him  only  the  day  before  of 
Ned's  secret  acquaintance  with  young  Mackay,  and  Mr. 
Edgar's  coldness  to  her  because  of  that  acquaintance,  with 
the  facts  that,  in  the  suicide,  Edgar  had  himself  dis 
covered  this  identical  Mackay,  and  was  now  so  eager  to 
leave  Rahandabed,  and  so  stern  in  his  order  to  his  daugh 
ter  not  to  see  Ned,  he  could  come  to  but  one  conclusion — 
that  the  story  of  the  previous  day,  which  his  informant 
wanted  so  charitably  not  to  believe,  must  be  quite  true, 
of  which  truth,  perhaps,  Edgar  had  even  some  secret 
proofs,  but  that,  in  his  magnanimity,  he  would  not  openly 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  159 

condemn  the  imprudent,  if  not  erring  girl.  Then  her 
own  pale  and  sick-looking  countenance  that  he  saw  when 
he  went  to  speak  to  his  aunt  in  the  latter's  apartment, 
seemed  to  be  a  proof  of  the  unpleasant  things  against 
her.  Well  might  she  look  pale  and  sick  if,  as  he  now  be 
lieved,  young  Mackay's  suicide  lay  at  her  do;:>r.  And  not 
until  that  moment  did  he  realize  how  much  he  himself 
loved  Ned.  But  he  knew  it  now,  knew  it  by  the  agony 
of  his  own  thoughts,  and  though  he  performed  all  the 
parting  ceremonies  with  perfect  courtesy,  it  was  with 
somewhat  of  a  pre-occupied  air,  but  little  flattering  to 
Edna. 

Piqued  and  saddened  by  it,  she  said,  as  he  assisted  her 
to  a  place  in  the  carriage  :  "  May  I  be  assured  that  you 
will  accept  my  father's  invitation  to  Weewald  Place  ? " 

She  lingered  purposely,  as  she  spoke,  with  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  her  eyes  looking  fixedly  into  his  own, 
so  as  to  throw  all  the  witchery  of  her  exquisite  beauty 
about  him.  But  the  effect  was  lost,  for  he  saw  only  one 
face — the  face  that  he  must  learn  to  forget.  He  bowed, 
however,  and  murmured  that  she  might  be  quite  assured 
of  his  acceptance  of  her  father's  invitation. 

Poor,  old  honest  Mackay !  It  seemed  a  strange  turn 
of  Heaven  to  give  him  this  reward  for  his  long  life  of 
struggle  and  rectitude.  Perhaps,  had  the  news  been 
broken  to  him  by  another  than  Mr.  Edgar,  he  might  not 
have  exercised  such  stern  control  of  his  feelings  ;  but  as  it 
was,  even  in  his  intense  grief — for  he  loved  his  boy, 
scapegrace  though  he  deemed  him  to  be — he  was  im 
pressed  and,  after  the  manner  of  poor  human  nature,  a 
little  flattered  by  Edgar's  unusual  condescension.  He 
bowed  his  head  when  told  the  news,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
let  his  tears  have  their  way  down  his  furrowed  cheeks. 
Mr.  Edgar  had  thought  it  better  to  tell  at  once  all  that  was 
known  of  the  circumstances  attending  young  Mackay's 
suicide,  but  he  did  it  very  gently,  impelled  to  that  course 
by  the  same  feeling  which  had  caused  him,  in  the  first 
place,  to  assume  the  charge  of  the  body — a  feeling  that 


160  A  FATAL  KESE. MELANGE. 

because,  through  kin  of  his,  trouble  had  come  to  these 
poor  people,  it  was  in  a  measure  his  duty  to  show  them 
some  kindness. 

"  And  a  paper  pinned  to  his  breast,  you  say,  Mr.  Edgar  ? " 
the  poor  old  father  repeated,  when  the  gentleman  had 
told  the  ghastly  story. 

"  Yes;  saying  for  love  he  had  done  it.  Do  you  know 
anything  of  his  private  affairs,  Mackay ;  anything  that 
might  have  driven  him  to  such  a  deed?" 

"  Nothing  ;  but  how  should  I  know  ?  He  was  away 
from  home  so  much.  In  the  last  eighteen  months  he 
has  scarcely  been  here  a  week.  His  sister,  Annie,  may 
know.  They  took  to  each  other  warmer  than  most 
brothers  and  sisters ;  only  she's  away  now  with  her  aunt 
in  Rochester,  and  so  delicate  that  I'm  afeared  this  news 

will  be  the  death  of  her  too,  and '  He  stopped 

suddenly,  for  the  thought  of  the  loss  of  both  his  children 
caused  a  great  lump  to  rise  in  his  throat,  and  he  turned 
away,  unable  to  say  more. 

Edgar  was  really  touched.  He  placed  his  hand  on  the 
old  man's  arm  and  said  with  a  strange  treinulousness  in 
his  own  tones : 

"  Do  not  let  her  know  anything  about  it  yet,  and  when 
she  returns  she  may  be  strong  enough  to  receive  the  in 
formation.  How  long  is  she  to  remain  with  her  aunt? " 

Mackay,  having  by  an  effort  recovered  his  voice, 
answered : 

"  As  long  as  she  likes  ;  I  wasn't  particular,  so  long  as  it 
was  doing  her  good." 

"  Very  well,  then,  let  her  stay,  and  send  her  no  word  of 
this." 

To  which  proposition  the  old  man  assented. 

And  Edna,  when  told  all  that  by  her  father,  felt  in 
tensely  relieved.  Annie  Mackay  away  from  home,  and 
not  likely  to  hear  about  her  brother's  shocking  death  for 
some  time,  lifted  a  weight  of  fear  from  her  own  heart. 
She  knew  not  whether  the  pledged  and  faithful  secrecy 
of  the  young  girl  in  the  past,  would  or  could  be  maintained 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  161 

in  the  face  of  such  a  tragedy,  and  though  she  hoped 
much  from  her  own  influence  over  Annie,  and  from  the 
latter's  affection  for  herself,  still  it  seemed  to  be  a  lucky 
stroke  of  fate  to  have  her  absent  just  now.  She  wrote  to 
Ned  how  Annie  Mackay  was  away,  and  too  ill  to  be  made 
acquainted  with  what  had  happened,  but  she  did  not  say 
a  word  to  indicate  her  own  feelings.  Indeed,  the  letter 
was  as  bright  and  chatty  as  the  effusion  of  a  gushing  and 
guileless  school-girl.  In  vain  Ned  tried  to  gather  from  it 
some  little  trace  of  remorse  or  penitence,  or  at  least  of  that 
deeper  feeling  which  is  at  all  times  the  accompaniment 
of  a  truly  Christian  heart.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and  the  very  sympathy  expressed  for  old  Mackay 
had  a  cold,  unfeeling  ring  about  it  that  made  Ned  turn 
away  from  the  letter  with  bitter  disappointment. 

Young  Mackay  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  little  conn- 
try  cemetery,  on  a  bleak  afternoon,  when  the  dreary 
aspect  of  nature  seemed  in  mournful  keeping  with  the 
bereaved  old  father.  Quite  a  concourse  of  the  country 
people  witnessed  the  interment,  for  the  Mackays  were 
well  known,  and  old  Mackay  much  liked  and  respected. 

Edgar  did  not  attend  the  funeral,  but  he  assumed  all 
the  expense,  and  to  make  further  amends,  he  offered  the 
old  man  the  better  and  more  lucrative  situation  of  head 
gardener  in  Weewald  Place,  which  offer  was  gratefully, 
if  not  gladly,  accepted. 

Edna  was  gay  and  melancholy  by  turns  ;  for,  hardened 
as  she  had  become,  she  could  not  keep  down  the  still  white 
face  that  rose  so  often  to  reproach  her.  Her  father,  be 
cause  of  his  deep  affection,  singularly  watchful  of  her, 
noticed  her  fitful  moods  and  attributed  them  to  the  lonely 
contrast  that  Weewald  Place  was  to  Rahandabed.  Mrs. 
Stafford,  though  kind,  and  gentle,  and  cultured,  was  hardly 
sufficient  society  for  a  girl  of  Edna's  lively  temperament, 
and  he  himself  was  perhaps  too  old  and  too  much  inclined 
to  melancholy  reticence  to  prove  an  agreeable  companion. 
Such  were  the  arguments  he  pleaded  to  himself  in  ex 
tenuation  of  her  varying  disposition,  even  though  his 


162  A   FATAL    RESEMBLA.NCK. 

secret  heart  sent  up  a  little  protest  against  it  all.  He 
could  not  help  feeling  that,  having  been  absent  from  her 
father  so  long,  she  might  surely  enjoy  having  him  to  her 
self  for  a  little,  and  show  that  enjoyment  by  appearing 
happy  in  his  presence,  instead  of  manifesting,  as  she  fre 
quently  did,  a  listless,  almost  dejected  air,  and  an  absent, 
half -sad  look. 

One  day  that  he  had  contemplated  her  thus  for  some 
time,  he  said  suddenly : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  asking  Mr.  Carnew  to  visit 
us  immediately  ?  I  thought  to  wait  a  month  or  so  before 
renewing  my  invitation  to  him,  but  there  is  really  no 
reason  to  wait  so  long." 

"  O  papa,"  she  answered, "  it  would  be  so  delightful,"  and 
the  sudden  color  that  glowed  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  im 
mediate  straightening  of  her  form,  with  the  pleasure 
showing  in  her  whole  changed  countenance,  attested  the 
truth  of  her  words. 

Edgar  felt  he  had  made  a  new  discovery :  that  his 
daughter  loved  Carnew,  and  that  her  manner,  which  lie 
had  been  attributing  to  other  causes,  was  due  solely  to  the 
fact  that  her  heart  was  in  another's  keeping.  Wondering 
if  the  affection  was  mutual,  and  if  so,  whether  Carnew 
had  openly  professed  it  to  Edna,  he  asked : 

"lias  Mr.  Carnew  paid  you  very  marked  attention 
during  your  stay  at  his  home  ?  " 

"No,  papa,"  opening  her  beautiful  eyes  with  that  look 
of  innocent  wonder  which  she  knew  how  to  assume  with 
such  excellent  effect,  "nothing  beyond  that  which  he 
would  pay  to  any  lady  guest.  I  was  the  latest  arrival  to 
Rahandabed,  and  being  unaccompanied  by  any  male 
escort  as  the  other  ladies  were,  I  supposed  he  deemed  it 
his  duty  to  attend  me  when  I  rode,  and  to  pay  me  some 
attention  at  our  evening  parties." 

Her  father  was  somewhat  relieved  ;  charming  and  de 
voted  as  he  thought  her  to  be,  he  still  feared  that  she 
might  have  been  receiving  marked  attentions  without 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  163 

first  asking  his  consent,  and  in  that  case  there  would  have 
been  a  strange  parallel  between  her  and  Ned. 

But  at  the  same  time  he  felt  also  a  little  throb  of  pain 
that  this  child  whom  he  loved  so  intensely  could  so  soon 
and  so  readily  give  her  affections  to  another ;  could  be 
willing  to  leave  his  home  to  brighten  that  of  a  stranger. 
Still  he  took  himself  to  task  for  the  feeling.  Why  should 
he  expect  to  keep  her  more  than  other  fathers  kept  their 
children,  and  why  should  he  want  the  very  brightest  of 
her  years  bound  to  him,  an  old  man  now  as  he  imagined 
himself  to  be,  though  hardly  in  his  fiftieth  year,  when 
the  law  of  simplest  reason  demanded  that  she  should  move 
in  a  different  and  more  useful  sphere  ?  Then,  even  in  the 
event  of  her  marriage,  she  need  not  be  separated  from 
him.  Her  husband  might  .be  induced  to  make  Weewald 
Place  his  home,  and  in  that  case  Edgar  would  not  only 
have  the  society  of  his  daughter,  but  that  of  a  son.  That 
view  cheered  him  a  little,  and  he  resolved  to  watch  Car- 
new  closely  when  lie  came,  and  should  he  prove,  on  a 
longer  acquaintance,  to  be  as  deserving  of  regard  as  he 
already  seemed  to  be,  he  would  not  only  not  object  to  his 
attentions  to  Edna,  but  even  try  to  forward  them.  Hav 
ing  thus  resolved,  he  went  immediately  to  write  a  note 
of  invitation  to  Carnew,  which  note  he  intended  to  dis 
patch  by  hand,  so  that  the  bearer  might  bring  to  him 
immediately  Carnew's  answer. 

Edna  was  still  blushing  with  pleasure.  Her  father's 
desire  to  invite  Carnew,  the  absence  of  any  censure  or  re 
monstrance  on  his  part  when  he  interrogated  her  about 
the  gentleman's  attentions  to  herself,  indicated  that  he 
would  not  object  to  the  young  man  as  a  suitor,  and  Edn-i 
determined  to  wind  about  him  when  he  came  every  coil 
of  her  many  charms.  She  did  not  dream  for  a  moment 
that  it  was  shy,  reserved,  calumniated  Ned,  who,  without 
knowing  it  herself,  had  won  the  heart  of  handsome  Alan. 
Carnew. 


164:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


XXXII. 

Mr.  Edgar's  departure  caused  Mrs.  Doloran  to  have 
one  of  her  most  tantalizing  moods.  Her  vanity  had  been 
sorely  wounded  by  it,  for,  had  that  gentleman  been  at  all 
impressed  by  her  blandishments,  he  certainly  would  not 
have  departed  so  soon.  And,  as  was  usual,  everybody 
about  her  paid  the  penalty  of  her  miserable  failing  ;  but 
the  keenest  brunt  of  it  fell  upon  Ned.  She  made  the  most 
absurd  demands  of  the  poor  girl,  often  by  so  doing  expos 
ing  her  to  the  ridicule  of  many  of  the  guests,  and  she 
querulously  censured  her  in  public  and  in  private,  until 
Ned,  in  desperation,  was  seriously  determining  the 
question  of  leaving  the  lady's  service.  She  could  at  least 
go  to  Albany  to  Meg's  relatives,  to  whom  she  punctually 
wrote,  and  she  had  sufficient  money  saved  to  defray  her 
expenses  until  another  situation  could  be  found.  But  she 
must  write  to  Dyke  first ;  she  could  not  take  such  a  step 
without  consulting  him.  And  accordingly  she  wrote, 
detailing  pretty  fully  the  many  ills  to  which  she  was  sub 
jected  in  her  present  home,  but  withal  saying  that,  as 
it  was  now  the  beginning  of  winter,  and  perhaps  rather 
an  awkward  time  to  think  of  securing  a  position  in  any 
family,  if  he  thought  it  better,  sire  would  endure  her 
present  abode  until  the  spring. 

Dyke  read  that  letter  with  eyes  that  very  nearly  swam 
with  tears  of  pleasure  ;  it,  as  it  were,  gave  him  an  assur 
ance  that  her  heart  was  still  her  own,  and  might  (ah  !  how 
his  own  heart  beat  at  the  thought)  one  day  be  his.  Ilr 
had  given  so  much  satisfaction  to  his  employers  that  al 
ready  it  was  contemplated  to  promote  him  to  a  position 
beyond  his  most  sanguine  hopes ;  the  fact  had  been  hinted 
to  him  that  very  day,  and  he  had' ample  reason  to  expect 
that  by  the  spring  he  would  be  in  a  position  to  offer  Ned 
at  least  a  comfortable  and  an  assured  home.  As  his  wife, 
his  large  loving  heart  could  shelter  her  from  every  ill 
such  as  she  now  endured.  So,  in  the  fulness  of  his  de 
light,  he  wrote  that  he  could  not  for  one  moment  expect 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  105 

her  to  remain  in  a  place  where  her  daily  annoyances  were 
so  great,  and  that  he  quite  approved  of  her  proposal  to  go 
to  Albany.  In  April,  he  was  positive  he  would  be  able 
to  secure  a  position  for  her,  and  in  the  mean  time  her  stay 
with  Meg  and  Meg's  relatives  might  afford  her  perhaps  a 
little  rest  and  recreation.  If  she  would  tell  him  the  pre 
cise  time  of  her  departure,  he  would  endeavor  to  get  a 
couple  of  days'  leave  of  absence  in  order  to  escort  her. 
Not  a  word  had  he  said  of  his  real  intention,  and  yet  he 
flattered  himself  that  she  would  see  through  it  all,  and 
understand  that  the  position  he  would  be  able  to  secure 
for  her  would  be  that  of  his  wife.  Ned,  however,  was 
obtuse  in  that  respect.  She  divined  nothing  of  the  kind 
from  the  simply-worded  letter ;  and  while  her  heart  beat 
with  renewed  affection  for  the  honest,  large-hearted  fel 
low,  it  was  the  affection  of  a  sister,  nothing  more.  She 
soliloquized  about  the  contents  of  the  missive : 

u  Since  he  is  so  certain  of  securing  a  position  for  me  in 
the  spring,  why  should  I  not  endure  Mrs.  Doloran  until 
then  ((  After  all,  if  I  go  to  these  good  people  in  Albany, 
they  may  insist  upon  doing  as  they  did  before,  charging 
nothing  for  my  expenses,  and  then  I  should  feel  not  a 
little  unhappy.  No,  I  have  changed  my  mind,  I  shall 
endure  Kahandabed  until  April." 

And  she  wrote  to  that  effect  to  Dyke ;  and  he,  blinded 
by  his  own  love,  took  her  resolution  to  remain  at  Rahan- 
dabed  as  a  proof  that  she  understood  the  true  meaning 
of  his  letter,  but  that,  with  her  natural  and  beautiful 
modesty,  she  had  refrained  from  a  single  question  which 
must  draw  him  out  upon  the  subject.  Nor  would  he  be 
any  more  explicit  until  the  actual  moment  arrived  when 
he  could  pour  out  at  her  foot  that  affection  which  had 
begun  when  he  first  saw  her  as  a  baby,  and  which  had 
increased  since  with  every  year  of  his  own  life. 

Carnew  dispatched  an  immediate  acceptance  of  his 
invitation  to  Weewald  Place.  Indeed,  he  was  rather 
glad  of  the  change  it  would  afford,  lie  was  tired  of  the 
frivolity  about  him,  disgusted  with  his  aunt,  whom  his 


166  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

manhood  would  not  permit  to  abandon  to  tlie  sharp 
practices  and  the  unkind  gossip  of  many  about  her,  and 
he  was  bitterly  disappointed  in,  and  heart-sick  at  the 
thought  of  Ned.  Having  by  accident  seen  in  the  mail- 
bag  her  recent  letters  to  Dykard  Dutton,  all  sorts  of  un 
pleasant  reflections  arose  in  his  mind.  Was  it  for 
the  sake  of  Dutton  she  had  discarded  Mackay  and  driven 
the  latter  to  suicide?  Had  she  been  frank  enough  to 
tell  Dutton  anything  about  the  wretched  affair  ?  And  then 
he  tried  to  hate  Ned,  to  stigmatize  her  to  himself  as  a 
secret  flirt,  a  schemer  for  a  husband ;  but  one  look  at  the 
sweet,  pale,  sad  face,  disarmed  him  and  sent  him  back  to 
other  thoughts  with  a  sigh  in  his  heart,  and  a  great  wild 
longing  that  she  was  what  he  once  thought  her  to  be. 

He  departed  for  Weewald  Place  very  quietly,  no  one 
knowing  of  his  departure  until  he  had  actually  gone,  and 
then  a  brief  note  to  Mrs.  Doloran  borne  by  Macgilivray, 
who  had  driven  the  young  master,  as  the  Scotchman 
always  termed  Alan  in  speaking  of  him,  to  the  station, 
informed  that  lady  of  her  nephew's  intended  absence  for 
a  few  weeks,  but  the  place  of  his  destination  was  not 
mentioned.  Why  Alan  had  acted  with  such  secrecy  he 
perhaps  could  hardly  have  explained  to  himself,  save  that, 
as  his  aunt  so  avowedly  disliked  Mr.  Edgar,  it  would  but 
add  fresh  fuel  to  her  anger  did  she  know  he  had  gone 
to  visit  that  gentleman,  and  in  that  case  her  temper 
would  be  more  disagreeable'  than  ever  to  those  about 
her  during  his  absence.  But  his  present  course  was 
hardly  better.  Upon  reading  the  note,  she  turned  in  a 
perfect  fury  to  Ned  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Alan  leaving  home 
without  consulting  me,  and  then  daring  to  write  that  he 
has  gone,  and  never  to  name  the  place  that  he  has  gone 
to? "  But  she  did  not  wait  for  Ned's  reply.  %  She  burst 
out  at  astonished  Macgilivray.  "When  did  he  give  this 
note  to  you  ? " 

The  Scotchman  did  not  lose  his  prudence.  Divining 
from  the  information  that  Mrs.  Doloran  had  already  im- 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  167 

parted  that  there  was  some  motive  for  secrecy  on  the 
part  of  the  young  master,  he  determined  to  be  very  care 
ful  not  to  reveal  the  precise  time  of  Alan's  departure,  nor 
the  train  he  had  taken. 

lt  Me  leddy,  he  put  that  note  into  me  han'  just  as  the  car 
riage  stoppit  doon  at  the  station,  an'  just  before  he  steppit 
into  the  car.  But  if  you  want  mair  precise  information, 
it  war  just  as  I  war  a  thinking  aboot  tightening  the  girths 
of  black  Bess  the  off  horse,  an'  war  aboot  to  get  doon  to 
luik  at  the  left  fore  shoe  of  Jim  the  near  horse,  an — 

"  Stop,"  commanded  Mrs.  Doloran,  more  infuriated 
than  ever,  u  I  didn't  ask  you  for  such  stuff  as  that. 
What  train  did  Mr.  Carnew  take  ? " 

The  Scotchman's  face  assumed  a  most  bewildered  ex 
pression,  and  he  looked  from  Mrs.  .Doloran  to  Ned  in 
such  an  amusingly  helpless  way,  that  at  another  time  the 
girl  would  have  been  provoked  to  laughter. 

"  Speak,  man  !  "  thundered  the  irate  woman. 

"  Well,  you  see,  me  leddy,  a  train  war  going  up  and  a 
train  war  coming  doon,  and  what  between  the  note  that 
he  gart  me  gie  you,  and  Jim's  left  fore  shoe— 

"  You're  an  utter  fool,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Doloran ; 
"  can't  you  tell  whether  he  went  up  or  down ;  did  you 
see  him  get  on  the  car  ? " 

Macgiiivray  was  averse  to  downright  lying,  but  he 
could  easily  reconcile  his  conscience  to  a  little  equivocation 
or  prevarication,  and  in  this  case  the  latter  seemed  es 
pecially  commendable : 

li  Yes,  me  leddy  ;  I  seen  him  steppit  aboord  the  car, 
but  then  it  might  be  the  car  gang  doon,  and  then  agen,  it 
might  be  the  car  gang  up,  for,  as  I  said  before — 

But  again  he  was  interrupted. 

"  Since  you  are  such  an  unmitigated  idiot  about  the 
trains,  tell  me' about  the  time  that  he  boarded  the  car." 

This  time,  to  insure  success  in  the  part  he  was  playing, 
Macgiiivray  assumed  rather  a  knowing  look. 

"  I  think  I  can  tell  you  that,  me  leddy,  if  ye'll  noo 
hurry  me,  but  bide  aweel  while  I  get  it  straucht." 


A   FATAL   KESEiMBLANCE1. 

Mrs.  Doioran  seemed  to  be  trying  to  possess  her  soul  in 
patience,  and  the  crafty  Scotchman,  with  the  forefinger  of 
his  right  hand  pressed  to  the  side  of  his  nose  as  if  to  help 
his  recollection,  resumed : 

"  It  war  verra  near  twa  hours,  an'  twenty-one  minutes 
after  lunch,  when  I  got  the  order  to  be  ready  to  drive  the 
young  master  doon  to  the  station,  an'  when  we  started  it 
war  verra  near  three  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  then  he  must  have  taken  the  train  up,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Doioran. 

"  Bide  a  weel,  me  leddy ;  we  had  a  stappage  on  the 
road ;  Black  Bess's  shoe  hurtit  her,  and  we  had  to  stop 
round  to  Payne's  the  blacksmith  to  have  it  fixed;  the 
young  master  said  there  war  time  eneuch.  That  took 
twenty-seven  minutes  and  a  half,  and  there  war  muckle 
mair  time  in  getting  to  the  station,  for  he  gart  me  not  to 
drive  fast.  Sae  I  dinna  hand  in  my  mind  the  exact  hour 
you  want,  me  leddy,  but  if  it  war  noo  much  past  four 
o'clock,  then  it  war  verra  near  to  five  o'clock." 

Mrs.  Doloran's  temper  was  at  white  heat  by  this  time, 
and  she  almost  drove  the  Scotchman  from  the  room. 

He  went,  congratulating  himself  that  his  departure  had 
not  been  summarily  hastened  by  the  advent  of  a  missile 
at  his  head  ;  probably  he  had  been  saved  from  the  un 
pleasant  contact  only  because  there  was  nothing  very 
convenient  to  her  hand. 

But  Ned  had  to  bear  the  woman's  tirades,  and  to  listen 
to  passionate  speeches,  flung  with  demoniacal  injustice  at 
Carnew,  until  her  head  ached  as  well  as  her  heart. 

At  length,  Mrs.  Doioran  seemed  to  have  found  an 
anchor  for  her  restless  thoughts.  In  her  denunciations  of 
Alan's  conduct,  she  had  named  first  one  place,  and  then 
another  as  his  likely  destination,  but  only  to  discard  the 
idea  as  soon  as  she  had  given  it  expression ;  now,  how 
ever,  she  seemed  to  conclude  that  it  was  after  Edna  he 
had  gone,  and  immediately  she  said  so,  adding  : 

"Why  clid  I  not  think  of  that  before?  The  girl  be 
witched  him,  and  of  course  he  cannot  live  without  her. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  169 

Depend  upon  it,  Ned,  lie's  gone  to  Weewald  Place,  and 
he'll  come  back,  I  suppose,  with  his  bride." 

Had  she  been  a  grain  less  selfishly  absorbed  than  she 
was,  she  must  have  noticed  the  change  which  her  words 
caused  in  the  face  of  her  companion.  Pale  before,  it  was 
ghastly  now,  and  the  dark  heavy  lines  under  the  big  black 
eyes  seemed  to  grow  darker  and  larger. 

But  Mrs.  Doloran  continued  : 

"  I  wouldn't  object  to  his  marrying  her ;  I  don't  ob 
ject  to  her,  I  only  object  to  her  father.  I  shall  write  to 
him  immediately,  and  tell  him  just  what  I  think  of  his 
sneaking  away  from  Rahandabed  like  this." 

XXXIII. 

Was  Carnew  not  the  firm,  grave,  thoughtful  character 
that  he  was,  he  must  have  been  so  won  by  the  exceed 
ingly  pleasant  cordiality  with  which  he  was  received  by 
the  Edgars,  as  to  have  fallen  easily  into  the  trap  rather  set 
for  him  by  both  father  and  daughter. 

But,  though  he  basked  in  the  kindness,  earnest  and 
simple  as  it  was  on  Edgar's  part,  and  was  often  fascinated 
to  a  degree  by  the  charm  of  Edna's  beauty  and  accom 
plishments,  there  was  something  about  her  which  kept 
him  from  the  slightest  desire  to  make  her  his  wife.  Per 
haps  it  was  that  in  her  violent  desire  to  hasten  matters 
she  forgot  herself  sometimes  and  betrayed  a  faint  and  un- 
definable  lack  of  modesty  that,  above  all  other  virtues, 
Carnew  prized  in  woman ;  and  perhaps  it  was  also  due  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  haunted  by  the  pale,  sad  face  at  Ra 
handabed. 

All  that  Mr.  Edgar  saw  of  the  young  man  but  con 
firmed  his  first  regard,  and  his  praise  of  Carnew  to  Edna, 
when  the  two  were  alone,  inflamed  more  ardently  her  de 
sire  to  win  him. 

She  was  his  constant  attendant  even  in  the  tour  of  the 
house,  when  her  father  displayed  to  him  the  treasures  of 
art  which  he  had  transferred  from  his  English  home,  and 


170  A     FATAL    E38KMBLANCE. 

she  surprised  him  by  her  scholarly  remarks.  lie  did  not 
know  that,  in  the  anticipation  of  talking  to  him  about 
those  very  objects  of  art,  she  had  made  them  a  subject  of 
special  study  and  of  particular  inquiry  from  her  father. 

On  the  second  morning  of  his  stay,  as  he  was  about  to 
enter  the  breakfast  room,  he  met  her  bearing  a  number  of 
letters. 

"I  was  too  impatient  for  the  servants'  distribution  of 
them,"  she  said,  "  so  I  went  myself  to  the  mail  bag.  I  have 
been  expecting  a  letter  from  Ned." 

He  started  a  little ;  having  forgotten  that  the  Misses 
Edgar  were  possible  correspondents,  it  came  to  him  now 
with  a  strange  thrill  of  anxiety  that  Edna  would,  of  course, 
write  to  Ned  about  her  father's  visitor.  No  inquiry  for 
the  young  girl  had  been  made  by  Mr.  Edgar,  and  only  a 
brief  one  by  Edna  when  her  father  was  not  present,  to 
which  inquiry  Carnew  had  replied  that  he  had  seen  but 
little  of  Miss  Edgar  since  Edna's  own  departure  from  Ea- 
handabed,  and  to  his  relief  she  did  not  ask,  as  he  had  half 
expected  her  to  do,  if  Ned  knew  of  his  coming  to  Wee- 
wald  Place. 

His  start,  however,  was  not  perceived,  and  having 
entered  the  breakfast  room,  whither  Mr.  Edgar  had  not 
yet  descended,  she  proceeded  to  look  at  the  superscrip 
tions  on  the  letters.  There  were  none  for  her,  but  the 
very  last  that  she  looked  at  was  directed  to  Alan.  He 
knew  at  once  the  stiff,  crooked  penmanship  of  his  aunt, 
and  he  wondered  what  ill  wind  had  borne  to  her  his 
present  wrhereabouts. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  read  it 
now." 

She  bowed  assent,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  her  father's 
letters  by  his  plate,  while  Alan  retired  to  a  curtained 
embrasure. 

He  read  with  mingled  feelings  of  astonishment  and 
anger : 

"  NEPHEW  ALAN " 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  171 

Mrs.  Doloraii  had  been  too  angry  to  insert  the  custom 
ary  «  My  Dear." 

"  There  was  no  necessity  for  such  secrecy  about  your 
visit  to  "Weewald  Place  ;  everybody  in  the  house  knows 
it  is  after  Edna  you  have  gone,  and  we  are  all  expecting 
you  to  return  with  her  as  your  bride.  But  it  is  surpris 
ing  that  you  should  make  such  an  early  visit  to  this  boor, 
Edgar,  without  acquainting  me,  your  aunt.  However, 
you  are  like  the  rest  of  your  sex,  unstable  and  unap- 
preciative."  (With  woman's  inconsistency,  she  had  for 
gotten  that  it  had  been  her  wont  to  direct  all  such  tirades 
entirely  against  her  own  sex,  attributing  to  the  sterner 
sex  the  very  virtues  for  the  lack  of  which  she  now  cen 
sured  her  nephew.)  "  You  will  wonder,  of  course,  how 
I  got  my  information  of  your  whereabouts.  My  own 
sharp  wits  gave  it  to  me,  for  that  fool  Macgilivray,  who 
brought  me  your  note,  couldn't  or  wouldn't  tell  me  a 
thing  beyond  that  you  might  have  taken  a  train  up,  and 
then  again,  you  might  have  taken  a  train  down.  I  have 
spoken  my  mind  pretty  freely  to  Ned,  and  she  quite 
agrees  with  the  view  I  take  of  your  conduct  in  this  mat 
ter."  (Ned  had  not  opened  her  lips  to  express  an  opinion 
either  way,  for,  had  she  even  felt  it  her  duty  to  speak, 
Mrs.  Doloran's  ceaseless  garrulity  gave  her  no  opportun 
ity  to  do  so.)  And  then  came  the  signature  : 
"  Your  indignant  aunt, 

"  E.  F.  BOLOBAN." 

Carnew  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  and  turned  as 
if  to  survey  the  winter  scene  without.  But  the  angry 
flush  mounting  to  his  forehead,  and  the  sparkle  in  his 
eyes,  told  that  his  thoughts  were  hardly  upon  the  prospect 
before  him.  lie  well  divined  why  she  had  inserted  that 
about  Ned  ;  it  was  that  he  might  know  how  another  than 
herself  concurred  in  the  judgment  she  had  pronounced 
upon  his  conduct.  It  was  well  that  she  did  not  know 
how  that  paragraph  in  her  letter  had  stabbed  him  in  an 
other  way.  It  was  that  Ned  would  think  he  had  gone 
after  Edna.  He  forgot  that  lie  had  never  given  Ned  the 


A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

slightest  sign  to  make  her  suppose  that  he  cared  for  her. 
And  then  his  thoughts  took  another  and  an  unkindly  turn 
toward  his  aunt's  u  companion."  "Why  was  she  so  ready  to 
concur  in  that  adverse  opinion  of  him  ?  Why  could  she 
not  in  her  woman's  heart  have  found  some  excuse  for  his 
conduct,  even  though  it  did  seem  a  little  inexplicable  ? 
lie  was  sure  that  he  would  have  done  it  in  her  case. 
And  yet  in  her  case,  where  her  conduct  seemed  inexplic 
able,  he  had  condemned  her  many  times.  But  we  are 
so  partial  to  ourselves,  and  so  loth  to  extend  to  others  the 
sweet,  sweet  charity  with  which  we  mantle  our  own  feel 
ings^ 

His  first  impulse,  while  all  those  thoughts  coursed  burn- 
ingly  through  his  mind,  was  to  return  to  Rahandabed 
immediately  and  disprove  his  aunt's  assertion  of  having 
gone  for  a  wife ;  his  next  impulse,  and  the  one  which  he 
obeyed,  was  to  write  a  brief,  cool  note  to  Mrs.  Doloran, 
in  which  he  set  before  her  very  sharply  how  mistaken 
were  all  her  conclusions,  and  how  disagreeably  officious 
she  made  herself  by  expecting  him  to  accord  to  her  the 
submission  of  a  child  in  frock  and  pinafore.  He  ended 
by  sarcastically  thanking  her  and  Ned  for  the  kind  judg 
ment  they  had  passed  upon  him. 

Mrs.  Doloran  was  as  furious  when  she  read  that  note 
as  when  she  had  been  foiled  in  her  endeavor  to  elicit  in 
formation  from  Macgilivray,  and  she  threw  it  to  Ned  to 
read,  saying  as  she  did  so  : 

"  He  is  a  wretch !  and  I  wish  1  had  never  seen  him. 
How  dare  lie  insult  me  like  that  ?  The  interest  I  took 
in  him,  the  kindness  I  showed  him  was  that  of  a  mother, 
and  this  is  his  return.  Have  you  read  it  'I  "  pausing  sud 
denly  in  her  excited  walk  through  the  apartment,  and  al 
most  glaring  at  Ned. 

The  latter  rose. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Doloran,  I  have  read  it,  and  from  it  I  in 
fer  that  you  must  have  made  some  strange  statement  of 
me.  Mr.  Carnew  thanks  me  in  his  sarcastic  manner  for 
my  kind  judgment  upon  his  conduct.  As  I  at  no  time  have 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE  173 

given  any  opinion  of  his  action,  it  is  your  duty  to  explain 
what  lie  means.  I  have  borne  many  things  as  your 
'  companion,'  but  it  certainly  does  not  belong  to  my  posi 
tion  to  bear  misrepresentation  by  you." 

She  stood  so  firmly,  and  with  such  an  unusually  indig 
nant  look  upon  her  face,  that  Mrs.  Doloran  shrank  a 
little ;  but  she  covered  her  fear  by  answering  imme 
diately  : 

"  Larks  and  daisies !  what  airs  we  give  ourselves.  You 
are  only  my  (  companion '  anyway,  and  as  such  it  was 
your  duty  to  concur  in  my  views  of  things." 

"  Never  my  duty  to  concur  in  unjust  views,"  broke  in 
Ned,  her  voice  tremulous  with  indignation,  "  nor,  to  my 
knowledge,  have  I  done  so." 

"  Well,  when  I  censured  Alan,  you  never  brought  for 
ward  anything  in  his  defence,"  said  Mrs.  Doloran,  glad 
of  any  statement  under  which  she  could  shield  herself. 

"  It  was  not  my  place  as  your  c  companion,'  "  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Ned  used  a  scornful  emphasis,  "  to 
interrupt  your  tirades,  and  they  were  so  unceasing  that 
they  gave  me  no  opportunity  to  do  so  ;  but  neither  was 
it  your  place,  Mrs.  DoToran,  to  construe  the  silence  in 
cident  to  my  position  into  an  untrue  statement  of  my 
opinion  of  your  nephew's  conduct." 

"  Larks  and  daisies,"  said  Mrs.  Doloran  again,  with  a 
toss  of  her  ludicrously  bedecked  head,  "  one  would  sup 
pose  you  were  in  love  with  Alan  yourself,  you  make  such  a 
fuss  about  these  harmless  remarks  of  mine  ;  but  you  have 
no  chance,  Ned ;  Alan  would  never  stoop  to  marry  his 
aunt's  '  companion,' "  and  then  she  laughed  a  shrill, 
forced  laugh  that  showed  the  more  plainly  the  crow's  feet 
about  her  eyes,  and  even  gathered  one  side  of  her  nose 
into  somewhat  unsightly  curves. 

"  I  shall  endure  your  remarks  no  longer,"  said  Ned, 
quivering  from  head  to  foot.  "  It  is  not  my  duty  to  bear 
insult.  I  shall  leave  your  house  within  an  hour." 

And  she  left  the  room  before  Mrs.  Doloran  had  quite 
realized  the  sudden  action.  She  was  not  prepared  for 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

that  result,  and  she  was  a  little  dismayed  by  it ;  still  she 
was  too  proud  to  seek  an  immediate  reconciliation,  and 
she  determined  to  wait  the  hour  before  making  any  de 
cision*.  Ned  went  immediately  to  her  room  and  began  a 
hasty  packing  of  her  trunk  without  well  knowing  where 
she  was  going.  Albany  suggested  itself,  but  she  shrank 
from  going  there  without  first  acquainting  the  good  peo 
ple  or  her  intended  visit ;  then,  the  village  of  C • 

came  to  her  mind.  Only  the  day  before  she  had  supplied 
Macgilivray  with  money  that  he  might  procure  a  tem 
porary  home  with  some  of  the  villagers,  with  whom  the 
Scotchman  professed  to  be  acquainted,  for  a  maid  of  Mrs. 
Doloran  wrho  had  been  actually  driven  from  Rahandabed 
by  that  lady  herself.  The  maid  was  a  prepossessing 
French  girl,  but  a  few  months  in  the  employment  of 
Mrs.  Doloran,  and  by  her  skill  in  hair-dressing  and  other 
feminine  matters  giving  much  satisfaction  until  it  was 
evident  her  volatile,  forward  manners,  and  attractive  ap 
pearance  had  brought  her  into  serious  trouble.  Indeed,  the 
guests  were  talking  about  it  before  even  Mrs.  Doloran's 
observation  was  awakened,  and  more  than  one  gossip-lov 
ing  tongue  had  not  hesitated  to  say  that  one  of  the  gentle 
manly  guests  was  the  cause  of  it.  The  unfortunate,  girl 
herself  maintained  an  unabashed  face  until  charged  with 
her  conduct  by  Mrs.  Doloran ;  then  she  burst  into  tears 
and  acknowledged  the  truth,  but  refused  to  tell  the  name 
of  him  who  had  been  the  cause  of  her  unhappiness. 

The  mistress  of  Rahandabed  was  righteously  shocked. 
No  sentiment  of  pity  for  the  erring  young  creature  en 
tered  her  heart,  nor  was  she  touched  when  the  girl,  sink 
ing  on  her  knees,  implored  to  be  kept  that  she  might 
earn  that  month's  wages,  as  she  had  sent  the  last  of  her 
former  earnings  for  the  support  of  her  little  sister  who 
was  at  school.  Parentless,  friendless,  homeless,  where 
could  she  go,  what  should  she  do?  And  her  sobs  were 
pitiful  enough  to  rend  the  hardest  heart.  But  Mrs. 
Doloran  only  answered  sternly  : 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

''  Ask  him  with  whom  you  have  sinned  to  help 
you." 

The  Frencli  girl  raised  her  streaming  eyes. 

"  Ah,  madame  !  I  cannot,"  and  then  she  pleaded  again, 
"  Do,  madame,  let  me  stay  this  month." 

But  madame  was  inexorable,  and  Josephine  was  allowed 
just  three  hours  in  which  to  take  her  departure.  Ma 
dame  even  told  the  story  to  Ned,  who,  owing  to  her  some 
what  isolated  position  among  the  guests,  had  heard  no 
whisper  of  the  tale  before,  and  Ned's  sympathetic  heart, 
for  Mrs.  Doloran  had  even  told  Ned  of  the  French  girl's 
pleading  to  be  kept,  was  touched  to  the  core.  She  man 
aged  to  see  Josephine  before  her  departure,  and  she  was 
touched  anew  by  the  tale  from  her  own  lips. 

The  girl  was  very  young,  very  pretty,  and  she  had  been 
brought  up  without  a  mother's  care  ;  surely  a  charitable 
heart  could  make  many  allowances  for  her  ;  thus  thought 
Ned,  while  the  dutiful  provision  which  she  made  for  her 
little  sister,  and  the  devotion  that  she  showed  in  refusing 
to  name  her  betrayer,  though  she  might  claim  from  him 
present  and  future  help,  evinced  qualities  of  character  ad 
mirable  enough  to  enlist  any  one's  pity.  So  Ned's  heart 
weiit.out  to  her,  and  Ned's  mind  was  quick  and  fertile  in 
devising  an  expedient  to  help  her. 

Somehow,  she  had  grown  to  like  better  and  to  have 
more  confidence  in  Maegilivray  than  any  of  the  other 
servants,  due,  perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  the  Scotchman  was 
as  respectful  to  her  as  to  the  most  important  of  Rahan  da- 
bed's  guests. 

To  the  other  domestics,  being  only  the  hired  "  com 
panion  "  of  their  mistress,  she  was  little  better  than  an 
upper  servant,  and  they  treated  her  accordingly. 

To  the  Scotchman,  then,  she  applied  for  assistance  in 
finding  a  temporary  home  for  the  French  girl,  and  he, 
having  friends,  and  even  kin,  living  in  the  village  of 

C ,  promised  to  obtain  a  place  for  her  immediately. 

"  And  there  is  nae  need  yet  of  the  siller,  Miss  Edgar," 


176  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

responding  to  her  offer  of  lier  purse  ;  "  I  ken  there  won't 
be  muckle  charge." 

But  she  insisted,  and  he  reluctantly  accepted,  and  shortly 
after  the  three  hours  which  Mrs.  Doloraii  had  allowed  for 
the  departure  of  Josephine,  the  girl  found  herself  in  the 
comfortable,  though  exceedingly  plain  little  home  of  an 
elderly  widow,  wdiose  only  a  child,  a  daughter,  was  at 
service  with  a  wealthy  family  in  the  village.  Whether 
Macgilivray  knew  the  story  which  for  a  fortnight  or  more 
had  been  the  theme  of  servant  gossip,  as  well  as  of  secret 
parlor  talk,  or  whether  he  believed  what  Ned  had  simply 
told  him,  that  the  French  girl  had  been  summarily  dis 
missed,  and  having  no  means  and  no  home  to  which  to 
go,  was  in  distress  for  immediate  shelter,  she  did  not 
know,  nor  was  she  concerned  to  know  ;  but  she  was  anx 
ious  to  see  the  widow  with  whom  Josephine  would  so 
journ,  feeling  that,  should  the  woman,  when  she  knew  the 
circumstances,  object  to  furnish  more  than  the  most  tem 
porary  home  to  the  girl,  at  least  she  might  advise  some 
thing  to  be  done  in  the  case.  So  she  called  upon  the 
widow  that  very  evening,  and  found,  to  her  unexpected 
satisfaction,  a  simple,  homely,  but  good-hearted  old 
Scotchwoman,  who  said,  when  N  ed  had  told  her  all  the 
circumstances  : 

"  I  kent  well  what  was  the  matter,  though  Donald  said 
never  a  word  when  he  brought  her  here,  only  that  the 
auld  hornie  had  gotten  as  usual  into  his  leddy,  and  made 
her  drive  this  puir  child  out  frae  hame  all  in  a  minit.  Its 
an  ill  wife  that  'd  noo  do  a  gude  turn  to  a  puir  lassie  like 
her.  Nae,  Miss,  she  is  welcome  to  a  home  here  if  she 
leeks  it  well  eneuch  to  bide  wi'  an  auld  Scotch  body  leek 
me,  an'  I  hand  sense  enough  to  hauld  me  tongue  about 
her  to  the  neebors.  They'll  be  wanderin'  an'  talkiii',  but 
I'll  jist-say  it's  a  freend  o'  me  aiu  come  to  bide  wi'  me." 

Thus  was  Josephine  provided  for  through  Ned's  in 
strumentality,  who  little  dreamed  that  in  so  short  a  time 
she  would  be  herself  in  nead  of  home,  and  as  in  the  vil 
lage  of  C—  -  the  French  girl  had  found  so  providential 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  177 

a  shelter,  why  should  not  she  find  one  also  ?  And  though 
the  home  of  the  widow  was  scarcely  large  enough  to  give 
her  accommodation,  still  Macgilivray  had  other  friends 
who  might  be  induced  to  accept  her  as  a  boarder  until  she 
should  give  her  friends  in  Albany  timely  warning. 

And  Macgilivray,  though  unable  to  control  his  surprise 
at  her  departure,  was  as  prompt  in  promising  to  obtain  an 
abode  for  her  as  he  had  been  for  Josephine,  though  he 
coupled  his  promise  with  an  apology  for  the  plainness  of 
the  home  offered,  at  which  Ned  smiled,  wondering  what 
he  would  think  of  the  plainness  of  the  mountain  home  of 
her  childhood. 

"  And  are  you  sure  I  can  go  there  immediately  ?  I 
want  to  leave  Rahandabed  within  an  hour,"  she  asked. 

"  There's  nae  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered,  "  for  they're 
glad  enough  to  take  a  boarder  or  twa  in  the  summer,  and 
they  haena  noo  objection  to  ain  in  the  winter.  But  I'm 
sair  troubled  aboot  the  takin'  o'  you  there  mysel.  You 
see,  me  leddy  gart  me  drive  some  of  the  guests  doon  to 
the  village  as  syne  as  lunch  'd  be  finished,  and  that  puts  a 
stoppit  to  me  endeevor  for  you.  But  dimia  greit,"  as  he 
saw  a  shade  come  over  Ned's  face,  "  I'lltellJiin  Slade(an 
under  coachman  of  Rahandabed)  where  to  bring  you,  and 
to  tell  the  folk  anent  you.  When  they  ken  that  I  sent 
you  they'll  be  civil  eneuch,  for  they're  me  ain  cousins." 

Ned,  with  a  relieved  mind,  returned  to  her  room 
to  complete  her  preparations,  and  whan  she  was  cloaked 
and  bonnetted  for  departure,  she  sought  Mrs.  Doloran. 
That  lady  assumed  a  dignified  pride  and  composure. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  said  the  girl,  her  voice 
trembling  a  little. 

"  Oli,  have  you  ?  Then  you  are  determined  upon  go 
ing,"  was  the  coldly  spoken  reply ;  "  and  I  suppose  you 
have  come  also  to  ask  for  a  recommendation.  I  assure  you 
beforehand  that  I  shall  only  recommend  you  for  an  un 
bearable  temper  and  whimsical  fits  that  make  you  turn  the 
most  harmless  things  into  crimes."  Tier  rage  and  chagrin 
at  Ned's  determination  to  go  were  now  beyond  all  control. 


178  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

and  she  spurted  out  the  first  insulting  words  that  came  to 
her  mind. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  ask  you  for  a  recommendation," 
the  girl  replied,  her  voice  and  face  showing,  in  spite  of 
her  efforts  to  control  herself,  how  she  was  stung  and 
angered. 

"  I  only  came  in  a  spirit  of  common  Christian  charity 
to  see  you  before  I  left  you  forever." 

"  And  I,  in  a  spirit  of  common  Christian  charity," 
mimicking  NecTs  tones,  "  will  order  your  wages  paid  before 
you  go,  though  it  is  not  customary  with  a  hired  person" 
the  emphasis  stingingly  long  and  marked  on  the  last  two 
words,  "to  pay  anything  when  the  departure  is  as  abrupt 
and  impertinent  as  yours  is." 

"  I  have  not  asked  for  your  wages,"  broke  from  Ned, 
now  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  suppressed  indig 
nation,  "  nor  do  I  wish  for  any  ;  and  lest  1  should  forget 
entirely  the  spirit  in  which  I  entered  your  presence,  I 
shall  say  at  once  to  you  good-by." 

And  turning  about,  she  went  hastily  from  the  room, 
leaving  Mrs.  Doloran  a  prey  to  the  most  violent  rage. 
She  had  not  intended  nor  expected  that  Ned  would  keep 
her  word  and  really  go  away  from  Kahandabed,  nor  did 
she  mean  that  it  should  be  so  even  now  ;  but  her  pride 
was  too  great  to  permit  her  to  take  any  steps  to  the  con 
trary  just  yet. 

She  would  let  Ned  depart,  but  she  would  take  pains  to 
ascertain  where  she  was  going,  and  in  a  day  or  two  she 
would  send  for  her. 

And  with  that  resolution  she  hastened  to  find  Ordotte. 

"  What ! "  he  said,  his  tawny  face  showing  greater 
dismay  than  it  had  ever  expressed  before  in  Mrs.  Dolo- 
ran's  presence. 

"  You  have  actually  let  Miss  Edgar  go  ? " 

"  What  could  I  do  ? "  deprecatingly.  "  She  would  in 
sist  upon  misunderstanding  something  I  had  said,  and 
nothing  would  keep  her  after  that." 

Ordotte    looked   at    her   in  a   disagreeably   searching 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  170 

way  that  she  peevishly  avowed  made  her  shiver,  but  he 
did  not  reply  immediately.  Probably  he  guessed  better 
than  the  lady  intended  he  should  do,  the  cause  of  Ned's 
reported  misunderstanding.  When  he  did  answer  it  was 
only  to  say  quietly : 

"  Miss  Edgar  must  return." 

XXXIY. 

Edna  Edgar  was  happy.  Her  father  each  day  declared 
himself  better  pleased  with  young  Carnew,  who  seemed 
to  enjoy  Weewald  Place  with  a  heartiness  that  he  rarely 
showed  in  Rahandabed. 

His  eyes  glistened  with  pleasure  over  the  rare  objects 
of  art  that  Mr.  Edgar  displayed  with  the  pride  of  a  con 
noisseur,  and  his  dark  cheeks  sometimes  glowed  with  color 
as  he  took  his  own  animated  part  in  interesting  discus 
sions  witli  the  well-read  gentleman. 

To  Edna,  as  became  the  esteemed  guest  of  her  father, 
he  paid  the  most  delicate  attention,  but  nothing  that 
could  be  construed  into  any  warmer  feeling.  Yet,  she  so 
interpreted  every  action  on  his  part.  She  loved  him  as 
even  in  her  brief,  youthful  infatuation  she  had  never 
loved  Mackay,  and  for  a  tithe  of  love  in  return  she  would 
have  put  her  passionate,  wayward  heart  under  his  feet. 

In  the  solitude  of  her  own  chamber  at  night,  when  the 
ardor  of  her  emotions  banished  sleep,  she  reflected  upon 
his  conduct  to  herself  during  the  day,  she  took  comfort 
and  assurance  from  the  fact  that  it  was  not  his  nature  to 
be  demonstrative,  perhaps,  not  even  to  show  up  to  the 
very  moment  of  proposing  for  a  lady's  hand,  any  strong 
desire  to  possess  the  same.  His  attentions  to  her  cer 
tainly  were  marked,  and  she  was  confident  that  before 
the  end  of  his  stay  he  would  speak  to  her  father. 

For  Alan — lie  was  utterly  innocent  and  unsuspicious  of 
the  feelings  with  which  the  daughter  of  his  host  regarded 
him  ;  did  he  dream  of  them,  he  would  that  moment, 
with  becoming  thanks  for  the  courtesy  that  had  been 


180  A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

shown  him,  have  shaken  from  his  feet  the  dust  of  Wee- 
wald  Place.  One  face  alone  had  taken  possession  of  his 
heart,  and  do  what  he  would  in  the  way  of  calling 
frequently  to  his  mind  all  the  adverse  things  he  had 
heard  of  her,  Ned's  image  retained  its  place.  Often 
when  he  seemed  to  be  most  attentive  to  Edna,  it  was  be 
cause  of  her  physical  resemblance  to  Ned.  One  day  that 
Mr.  Edgar  had  taken  him  to  inspect  some  very  old  pictures, 
and  to  ask  his  advise  about  having  them  retouched,  he 
paused  on  their  return  before  the  door  of  a  room  next 
to  his  own  apartment. 

"  Edna  has  not  shown  you  this,  I  presume,"  he  said. 
"  I  requested  her  not  to  do  so." 

"  No,  she  has  not,"  answered  Carnew. 

Edgar  threw  open  the  door.  It  was  a  small  apart 
ment,  fitted  up  like  a  lady's  boudoir,  and  having  in  the 
centre  an  easel,  the  front  of  which  was  covered  with 
silken  drapery.  He  threw  aside  the  drapery,  and  re 
vealed  an  exquisitely  painted  head  and  face  of  a  lady. 
Carnew  started,  for  it  was  such  an  exact  likeness  of  Ned. 
As  he  looked  longer,  the  resemblance  to  Edna  came  out, 
but  neither  so  strong  nor  so  startling  as  the  resemblance 
to  Ned. 

"  Whom  do  you  think  it  is  like  ? "  asked  Edgar  in  a 
tremulous  whisper. 

"  Like  Miss  Edgar,  who  is  Mrs.  Doloran's  companion.," 
replied  Carnew. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir ;  it  is  an  exact  likeness  of  my 
daughter." 

And  the  voice. of  the  gentleman,  before  low  and  trem 
ulous,  was  now  loud  and  decidedly  angry.  Carnew  turned 
to  him  in  astonishment,  at  which  Mr.  Edgar  seemed  to 
recover  himself,  for  he  resumed  in  his  natural  tones  : 

"  That,  Mr.  Carnew,  is  the  portrait  of  my  wife,  painted 
when  she  was  the  age  which  my  daughter  is  now.  I 
have  detected,  or  fancied  that  I  have  detected  " — his 
voice  sank  a  little —  "  a  marked  resemblance  between  it 
and  my  daughter.  I  requested  Edna  to  leave  it  to  me  to 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  181 

bring  you  here  that  I  might  hear  you  exclaim  on  your 
first  sight  of  it,  how  like  it  was  to  her.  But  I  am  dis 
appointed,  Mr.  Carnew." 

"Kot  entirely,  Mr.  Edgar,"  Alan  hastened  to  say, 
"  for  I  can  assure  you  that  it  does  bear  a  marked  resem 
blance  to  your  daughter ;  the  features  are  certainly  an 
exact  reproduction  of  Miss  Edgar's.  It  is  the  expres 
sion  which  is  so  striking  a  reminder  of  the  young  lady 
with  my  aunt." 

"We  will  go,  Mr.  Carnew." 

He  dropped  the  silken  hanging,  and  taking  Alan's  arm, 
turned  from  the  room.  Bat  some  strange  mood  had 
seized  him ;  instead  of  leaving  the  young  man  as  it  was 
his  wont  to  do  when  they  had  been,  as  they  were  this 
morning,  a  couple  of  hours  together,  he  still  clung  to  him, 
even  when  they  reached  the  library,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  as  if  he  were  arguing  with  himself,  he  requested 
him  to  enter. 

"  You  will  think  me  a  strange  man,  Mr.  Carnew,"  he 
began,  talking  rapidly,  as  if  to  hide  some  emotion,  "but 
even  at  this  distance  of  time,  with  twenty-two  years 
stretching  their  gap  between  us,  I  cannot  look  at  the  pic 
ture  of  my  wife  without  feeling  the  old  pain  of  loss, 
the  old  keen  yearning  to  behold  her  once  more.  That  is 
why  I  wish  so  wildly  my  daughter  to  resemble  her,  and 
I  only  visit  that  portrait  at  intervals  of  months,  that  1 
may  trace  the  resemblance  more  assuringly,  and  that  1 
may  save  myself  the  pangs  which  come  at  every  sight  of 
her  pictured  face.  I  love  my  daughter  with  greater 
strength  of  affection  perhaps,  than  many  fathers  love 
their  children.  She  is  my  only  one,  and  as  such  I  can 
not  bear  to  contemplate  a  day  arriving  when  she  may  be 
taken  from  me,  when  her  love  and  her  virtues  may  have 
to  grace  a  distant  home,  and  her  father  be  left  to  a  child 
less  solitude.  But,  even  in  such  a  contemplation,  could 
I  be  sure  that  he  who  may  gain  her  hand  would  be  worthy 
of  her  heart,  I  might  not  look  forward  with  such  dread. 
All  this  is  strange  to  you,  Mr.  Carnew,  but  young  and 


182  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

unmarried  though  you  are,  still  you  can  sympathize  with 
the  feelings  of  a  father,  and  that  father  the  father  of  an 
only  child." 

Alan  bowed,  wondering  at  Mr.  Alan's  unusual  commu 
nicativeness,  but  having  no  suspicion  of  what  further  lie 
was  destined  to  hear. 

"  To  know  that  Edna  had  given  her  heart  to  one  whom  I 
approved,  and  to  one  whom,  judging  from  his  natural  kind 
ness,  would  be  content  to  make  his  home  with  father 
and  daughter  rather  than  separate  them,  such  a  prospect 
would  make  my  old  age  indeed  happy." 

lie  paused,  and  looked  with  piercing  earnestness  into 
the  face  of  his  companion ;  but  the  latter  still  suspected 
not  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 

Both  had  been  standing  all  the  while  ;  Mr.  Edgar,  too 
much  engrossed  by  his  own  emotions  to  think  of  seating 
himself  or  of  inviting  his  guest  to  do  so,  and  Carnew,  too 
much  astonished  and  interested  to  think  of  another  po 
sition  than  the  one  he  had  first  assumed — standing  by 
the  library  table. 

And  when  that  piercing  look  elicited  nothing  from  the 
young  man  beyond  the  curious  and  interested  face  he 
already  wore,  Edgar  went  close  to  him  ;  he  put  his  hand 
on  Alan's  arm — a  hand  that  trembled  visibly — and  said 
with  a  tremor  which  he  tried  desperately,  but  without 
success,  to  keep  out  of  his  voice  : 

"  Mr.  Carnew,  I  was  once  a  lover  myself.  I  can  read 
the  signs.  You  are  in  love  with  Edna,  and  you  are  the 
one  I  would  choose  for  her — her  heart  she  herself  will 
give  you,  but  her  hand  I  can  promise  you." 

Had  Carnew  been  stabbed  suddenly  in  some  vital  part 
he  could  hardly  have  been  more  shocked,  or  pained.  Ed 
gar's  words  were  so  unexpected  and  so  undesired  ;  then, 
how  to  tell  this  father  that  his  only  child  was  not  beloved 
as  the  father's  heart  desired  her  to  be.  Oh  !  it  was  hard. 
The  color  surged  into  his  cheeks,  and  his  own  voice  trem 
bled  a  little : 

"  Mr.  Edgar,  I  am  sensible  of,  and  I  deeply  appreciate 


A    FATAL   KESEMBLANCE.  183 

the  honor  you  would  do  me  ;  but  it  has  surprised  me,  and 
all  the  more,  that  I  have  not  been  conscious  of  giving  any 
encouragement  for  such  an  offer  upon  your  part.  My 
affections  are  pre-engaged." 

"  Pre-engaged  !  "  It  was  the  only  word  he  could  utter, 
so  choked  was  he  by  disappointment  and  something  even 
like  resentment.  But  in  a  moment  he  recovered  him 
self,  and  resuming  that  courtesy  which  he  rarely  long 
forgot,  and  witli  which  he  could  mask  every  emotion,  he 
seized  Alan's  hand  and  said : 

"  Forget,  Mr.  Carnew,  that  I  have  so  far  violated  my 
duties  of  host  as  to  speak  to  you  upon  such  a  subject ; 
with  that  kindness  with  which  I  have  already  credited 
you,  attribute  it  to  a  father's  weakness.  As  Edna  knew 
nothing  of  my  intention,  and  indeed  it  was  sudden  and 
unpremeditated  upon  my  own  part,  your  friendly  rela 
tions  with  her  need  not  be  affected." 

And  wringing  Alan's  hand,  he  turned  to  leave  the 
room ;  but  the  young  man  called  him,  impelled  by  what 
sudden  feeling  to  do  so  he  himself  could  hardly  tell,  and 
looking  strangely  embarrassed  when  the  gentleman  turned 
at  the  summons. 

"  Mr.  Edgar,  as  you  have  honored  me  by  an  unexpected 
confidence,  so  am  i  impelled  to  confide  in  you.  When  I 
announced  to  you  that  my  affections  were  pre-engaged,  I 
felt  that  I  should  also  have  told  you  to  whom ;  the  more 
particularly,  that  you  have  had  at  some  time  an  interest 
in  the  young  lady — Miss  Edgar,  who  is  the  companion  of 
my  aunt." 

Edgar  became  so  rigid  that  he  seemed  to  be  rooted  to 
the  spot  on  which  he  stood,  while  his  face  paled,  until  it 
looked  positively  ghastly.  It  was  011  his  lips  to  say  : 

"  I  cannot  congratulate  you  on  your  choice  ; "  but  even 
in  that  moment  of,  to  him,  bitter  agony,  he  restrained 
himself,  actuated  by  a  dictate  of  charity.  Why  should  he 
blight  by  a  word  the  prospect  of  his  niece,  unworthy  and 
ungrateful  though  lie  deemed  her  to  be  ?  Besides,  it  would 
be  the  keener  revenge  to  let  Carnew,  who  had  slighted  an 


184  A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

offer  and  affections  every  way  worthy  of  him,  fall  into 
the  trap  he  had  himself  prepared — let  him  marry  JSTed  if 
he  would.  She  had  goaded  Mackay  to  his  death ;  she 
would  probably  break  Carnew's  heart  when  he  came  to 
know  her  true  character. 

"  You  do  not  speak,"  said  Alan,  unable  longer  to  control 
his  suspense,  "  and  yet  you  have  had  some  opportunity  of 
learning  Miss  Edgar's  character.  To  me  she  seems  to 
possess  virtues  the  most  estimable." 

"  And  it  is  not  for  me  to  disabuse  you  of  your  opinion," 
was  the  reply ;  "  any  interest  which  I  may  have  felt  in 
Miss  Edgar,  the  '  companion '  of  your  aunt,  has  completely 
ceased."  He  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

Alan  flushed,  and  unhappy  paced  the  apartment.  His 
stay  now  in  Weewald  Place  must  come  to  an  immediate 
close ;  he  even  shrank  from  seeing  Edna  again — given  to 
understand,  as  he  was  by  her  father,  that  she  was  not  un 
willing  to  yield  to  him  her  heart,  he  bitterly  reproached 
himself  for  having  accepted  the  invitation  to  Weewald 
Place.  He  had  done  it,  he  had  to  acknowledge  to  his 
secret  soul,  that  he  might  be  distracted  from  his  persistent 
thoughts  of  Ned  ;  and  the  result  was,  that  her  very  absence 
threw  a  charm  about  her  which  was  more  potent  than 
ever.  Oh,  that  he  could  forget  her !  Now,  when  even  Mr. 
Edgar,  who  was  once  her  protector  and  her  best  friend,  re 
fused  to  say  a  word  in  her  favor,  that  he  could  believe  her 
to  be  unworthy  of  his  regard  ;  but  up  came  the  sad,  gentle, 
lovely  face,  and  he  covered  his  own  face  with  his  hands 
and  groaned. 

Mr.  Edgar  deemed  it  best  that  his  daughter  should 
know  at  once  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  his 
guest ;  he  was  all  the  more  anxious  to  tell  her  in  order  to 
learn  how  deeply  her  affections  had  been  won.  And  he 
sought  her  on  leaving  Carnew. 

She  bore  the  communication  with  an  unexpected 
heroism ;  her  pride  was  so  great  that  not  even  to  her 
father  would  she  admit  her  suffering,  and  though  she 
paled  a  little,  and  bit  her  lip  until  the  blood  welmigh 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  185 

came,  immediately  after  that,  she  laughed,  and  flinging  her 
arms  about  him,  more  to  prevent  him  from  discovering 
her  real  feelings  than  through  affection,  she  said : 

"  As  good  fish  in  the  sea,  papa,  as  ever  were  caught. 
If  Mr.  Carnew  won't  take  me,  Mr.  Brekbellew  will — you 
remember  how  devoted  he  was." 

An  expression  of  disgust  crossed  Mr.  Edgar's  features. 

"Mr.  Brekbellew  is  so  contemptuously  beneath  your 
notice,  my  love,  that  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  mention  his 
name  even  in  jest." 

"Very  well,  papa,  I  won't,"  caressing  his  hair,  and 
letting  her  cool  white  fingers  rest  upon  his  hot  forehead. 

But  in  solitude  Edna's  heroism  completely  disappeared. 
She  laid  her  head  on  her  dressing-table  and  shed  the  most 
bitter  and  angry  tears  she  had  ever  shed  in  her  life.  By 
what  covert  charms  had  her  cousin  succeeded  where  her 
own  more  exquisite  beauty  and  accomplishments  had 
failed?  ITow  she  hated  her.  If  one  little  word  of  hers 
could  have  averted  from  Ned  the  direst  evil,  she  would 
not  have  spoken  it.  Rather  would  she  have  crushed  her 
if  she  could,  and  then  she  sought  to  think  what  means 
were  in  her  power  of  preventing  Carnew's  marriage  with 
her.  But  she  dared  say  no  more  evil  of  Ned  than  the 
insinuations  she  had  already  artfully  made,  lest  all  might 
recoil  upon  her  own  head.  Could  she  have  looked  but  a 
little  way  into  the  future,  she  would  have  beheld  her  re 
venge — a  revenge  awful  enough  to  win  even  from  her 
pitiless  heart  a  cry  of  horror. 

XXXV. 

Carnew  took  his  leave  of  Weewald  Place  with  the  best 
grace  he  could  assume ;  and  he  found  himself  back  in 
0 —  -just  four  weeks  after  his  departure  thence.  He 
had  not  sent  any  word  to  his  aunt,  preferring  to  come 
upon  her  as  suddenly  as  he  had  left  her,  and  thus  he  was 
surprised  to  find  Macgilivray  with  one  of  the  Rahandabed 
carriages  at  the  station  when  he  stepped  from  the  train. 


186  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"Not  waiting  for  me,  Donald,  surely,"  lie  said,  when 
he  had  returned  the  Scotchman's  glad  and  respectful 
greeting. 

"Nae,  Mr.  Carnew;  me  leddy  sent  me  for  visitors 
that's  expected  frae  this  train  ;  but  they're  noo  comin',  as 
I  ken,"  Carnew  and  another  gentleman  being  the  only 
passengers  to  alight  from  the  car. 

"  I'll  take  the  place  of  the  visitors,"  said  Alan,  stepping 
into  the  carriage. 

"  Aye,  an'  mair  welcome,"  responded  the  Scotchman 
half  to  himself. 

"  How  are  they  all  at  the  house  ?  "  resumed  the  young 
man. 

"  They're  a'  weel  but  me  leddy  hersel' ;  she's  a  maist 
daft  since  Miss  Ned's  awa'." 

"  Since  Miss  Ned's  away  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
And  the  young  man  paused  in  the  act  of  comfortably  ad 
justing  his  cushions,  and  almost  glowered  at  the  coach 
man. 

Macgilivray's  honest  face  wore  a  shade  of  sorrow. 

"  I  thoueht  it  vera  likely  that  you'd  noo  ken  hoo  it 
happened,"  and  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  sympathizing 
heart  he  told  Ned's  story,  Carnew  taking  his  seat  on  the 
box  beside  him  the  better  to  hear.  Donald  had  heard 
the  account  of  her  summary  dismissal  from  Mrs.  Doloran's 
maid,  who  had  bean  an  unintentional  listener  to  the 
stormy  interview  between  that  lady  and  her  "  companion," 
when  the  latter  announced  her  intention  of  leaving  liahan- 
dabed.  He  knew  from  servant  gossip  long  before  the 
unhappy  tale  of  Josephine,  and  he  had  bc^n  told  by  the 
old  Scotch  wife,  with  whom  Josephine  abode,  of  Ned's 
constant  charity  to  the  unfortunate  girl,  so  that  he  was 
sufficiently  informed  to  give  Carnew  all  particulars;  and 
he  did  so  in  his  homely  fashion.  C.irnew  listened  with 
that  tell-tale  color  that  never  came  only  when  excited  by 
strong  emotions,  and  even  with  labored  breath. 

"  And  Miss  Ned  is  now  boarding  here  in  C ,  you 

say  ?  "  he  asked,  when  Macgilivray  had  finished. 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  187 

"  Yes,  she's  wi'  kinspeople  o'  me  ain,  and  vera  weel 
treated,  she  says  hersel'." 

"  Drive  me  back  to  the  village,  Donald,  to  the  hotel ; 
I  shall  stay  there  for  a  few  days  ;  and  tell  me  where  Miss 
Ned  is  stopping.  On  your  return  to  Rahandabed,  say 
nothing  of  having  met  me." 

"  Dinna  fear,  sir ;  I  kent  lioo  to  keep  me  ain  counsel 
this  mony  a  day." 

In  his  room  in  the  hotel,  Carnew  was  almost  exultant. 
To  have  that  about  Ned  which  had  so  pained  him  in  his 
aunt's  letter  quite  disproved,  as  it  was  disproved  by 
Macgilivray's  story  that  gave  the  substance,  if  not  the  pre 
cise  language,  of  Ned's  denial  of  Mrs.  Doloran's  charge, 
and  to  hear  of  her  tender  charity  to  an  erring  one  of  her 
own  sex,  were  like  vindications  of  her  character  from 
Heaven  itself.  How  could  lie  longer  do  violence  to  his 
own  heart  by  stifling  his  affection  for  one  who  evinced 
such  admirable  qualities  ?  Her  very  spirit  in  leaving  his 
aunt  endeared  her  to  him.  What  though  there  were 
some  secret  passages  in  her  life  in  which  she  coquetted 
with  affections,  and  perhaps  even  broke  a  heart — what 
woman  was  entirely  free  from  the  weakness  of  her  sex  ? 
And  to  one  who  had  such  estimable  virtues  as  Ned  showed, 
surely  much  might  be  pardoned.  Besides,  she  was  more 
of  a  woman  now,  and  increasing  years  in  such  a  character 
as  hers  must  develop  unusual  strength  and  steadiness. 
Thus  did  he  reason  with  himself,  and  not  until  he  was  in 
the  very  flush  of  joy  from  his  arguments  did  the  ugly 
thought  of  Dykard  Dutton  come,  the  young  man  whom  he 
had  once  met,  and  to  whom  lie  had  seen  Ned's  letters  ad 
dressed.  Somehow,  of  late,  in  tl linking  of  Ned,  there 
had  not  intruded  any  thought  of  Dutton,  her  possible 
lover;  it  was  only  Ned  herself,  pure,  simple,  free,  as 
Carnew' s  heart  longed  for  her.  Now,  however,  when  he 
had  worked  himself  into  an  enthusiasm  about  her  virtues, 
Button's  image  rose  up  as  if  to  forbid  it ;  rose  up  with 
that  honest,  manly,  brave  look  that  had  won  such  involun 
tary  respect  from  Carnew  on  the  night  of  their  brief 


188  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

meeting.  The  remembrance  of  the  joy  she  showed  in  his 
company  that  night,  the  money  she  had  once  sent  him, 
but  which  had  been  so  promptly  returned,  her  letters  to 
him — all  came  before  him  now  in  a  most  tantalizing 
manner.  His  joy  was  dampened,  but  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  depression  his  kindly  nature  asserted  itself.  For 
the  noble  traits  she  had  shown  she  deserved  to  be  made 
happy,  though  her  happiness  should  be  bestowed  only 
through  his  pangs.  He  would  learn  what  prevented  or 
delayed  her  marriage  to  Dutton  ;  and  if  it  were  poverty,  lie 
would  sweep  away  the  obstacle.  Thus  resolved,  he  took 
his  way  to  the  address  which  Macgilivray  had  given  him. 

Ned  had  found  such  a  comfortable  home  with  Mac 
gilivray 's  simple  kinspeople,  that  she  deemed  it  as  well 
not  to  think  of  Albany  for  the  present.  Here  she  could, 
at  least,  without  doing  violence  to  anybody's  feelings, 
pay  her  way  ;  and  why  might  she  not  remain  thus  until 
spring,  when  Dyke  seemed  so  certain  of  being  able  to  pro 
cure  another  situation  for  her?  She  need  not  even  tell 
him,  nor  Meg,  of  her  change,  for  it  would  cause  them 
so  much  anxiety,  and  probably  even  bring  Dyke  from  his 
business  to  see  her. 

Jim  Slade,  who  had  driven  her  from  Rahandabed,  was 
compelled  to  disclose  her  whereabouts  the  very  same 
evening  to  Ordotte,  for  that  gentleman  had  been  in 
defatigable  in  his  inquiries  among  the  servants,  until  he 
ascertained  who  had  driven  the  young  lady  to  the  village ; 
and  before  Ned  retired  to  rest  that  night,  she  was  the 
recipient  of  a  half-sharp,  half -penitent  note  from  Mrs. 
Doloran,  asking  her  to  return.  The  note  was  written  in 
accordance  with  Ordotte's  request.  The  reply  was  kind 
and  respectful,  but  in  it  Ned  firmly  declined  ever  to 
go  back  to  Kahandabed.  Ordotte  was  dismayed,  while 
Mrs.  Doloran  was  furious,  and  the  man  who  brought  her 
that  message  owed  it  to  his  skill  in  evading  a  blow  that 
his  head  was  not  broken  with  a  small,  but  costly  alabaster 
vase.  The  ornament  shivered  into  fragments  almost  at 
his  feet. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  189 

She  sent  again  the  next  day,  and  the  third  day  ;  by  Or- 
dotte's  advice,  she  deigned  to  go  herself  in  her  most  pom 
pous  state  with  her  liveried  lacqueys,  which  fashion  she 
had  copied,  but  grotesquely,  as  she  copied  everything 
else  from  abroad,  and  she  almost  overpowered  the  good 
people  into  whose  simple  little  home  she  entered.  But 
she  was  well  known  by  reputation,  her  eccentricities 
being  a  frequent  theme  of  conversation  in  nearly  every 
house  in  C-  — . 

Ned  met  her  kindly,  but  as  firmly  as  when  she  parted 
from  her. 

"  And  so  you  absolutely  refuse  all  my  overtures  ? " 
said  Mrs.  Doloran,  the  half -entreating  air  with  which  she 
had  first  spoken  entirely  disappearing,  and  a  very  angry 
one  coming  rapidly  in  its  place. 

"  I  think  it  is  best  for  both  of  us,"  was  the  gentle 
reply,  "that  I  should  not  return  to  Rahandabed." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  tell  Alan  ? "  in  her  anger  raising 
her  voice  as  if  she  were  at  home. 

"  Since  you  accused  me  before  of  misrepresenting  you, 
I  refrained  from  writing  to  him  of  your  unkind  and  un 
grateful  departure." 

u  I  trust  that  it  has  been  neither  unkind  nor  ungrate 
ful,"  was  the  response,  "and  if  your  own  heart,  Mrs. 
Doloran,  does  not  prompt  you  to  tell  exactly  why  I  left 
your  service,  then  certainly  nothing  that  I  can  say  will 
avail." 

Exasperated  by  the  gentle  firmness  which  neither  en 
treaty,  nor  insult,  nor  threat  could  move,  Mrs.  Doloran 
screamed  rather  than  said  : 

"  Your  audacity  is  only  equalled  by  your  impertinence, 
and  I  shall  tell  Alan  how  fortunate  I  am  to  be  rid  of 
you.  You  are  a  viper  biting  the  hand  that  fed  you." 

u  Mrs.  Doloran,"  in  a  voice  so  full  of  indignant  agony 
that  it  sounded  hoarse  and  strange ;  but  Mrs.  Doloran 
flounced  out  of  the  room,  her  heavy-trailing  silk  dress 
making  an  alarming  rustle,  and  out  to  her  carriage  with 
out  even  a  word  to  the  amazed  folk  of  the  house.  They 


190  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

had  all  heard  the  loud  and  angry  tones,  and  knowing 
something  of  Ned's  story  from  Macgilivray,  and  much  of 
Mrs.  Doloran's  temper  from  the  same  source,  all  their 
sympathies  went  out  to  the  young  girl  whom  already, 
from  her  gentle,  kindly  ways  they  had  learned  to  like. 

Ordotte  was  more  disappointed  at  Ned's  refusal  to  re 
turn  than  he  thought  it  prudent  to  express  to  the  widow, 
and  with  similar  prudence  he  refrained  from  telling  her 
that  he  intended  to  have  a  watch  kept  upon  Ned,  lest 
she  should  leave  without  his  knowledge. 

Mrs.  Doloran  did  not  write  to  her  nephew  of  Ned's 
departure  ;  she  knew,  no  matter  what  her  version  might 
be,  that  he  would  attribute  the  fault  to  her,  and  she  pre 
ferred  to  wait  his  return,  and  answer  his  questions  about 
Ned  in  her  own  sarcastic  way. 

XXXYI. 

Ned,  never  dreaming  of  another  visitor  in  her  little 
quiet  home,  felt  her  breath  almost  taken  away  by  the  an 
nouncement  one  afternoon  that  a  gentleman  wished  to 
see  her.  Could  it  be  Dyke,  was  her  first  thought,  and 
how  did  he  get  her  present  address  ?  But  a  moment's 
reflection  solved  the  latter  query,  as  he  could  have  ascer 
tained  it  easily  in  Rahandabed.  It  must  be  he,  she 
thought,  with  violently  palpitating  heart  and  some  trou 
ble  perhaps,  had  brought  him. 

She  hurried  to  the  little  parlor  to  meet,  not  Dyke,  but 
handsome,  flushed,  gentlemanly  Carnew.  She  was  speech 
less  from  surprise. 

"  Miss  Edgar,"  he  said,  almost  tenderly,  as  he  approached 
her  writh  extended  hand,  "  I  have  only  to-day  returned  to 

C ,  and  learning,  while  on  my  way  to  Rahandabed, 

that  you  had  left  my  aunt,  I  could  not  go  on  without 
seeing  you." 

She  blushed  brightly  and  answered: 

"  How  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Carnew." 

He  shook  his  head  disclaimingly. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  191 

"  Hardly  so  kind  as  I  might  have  been.  I  might  have 
forborne  my  visit  and  remained  at  home  to  have  pro 
tected  you  from  my  whimsical  annt.  I  have  learned  all 
about  it,  you  see,  though  not  from  the  lady  I  have  just 
mentioned.  Sit  down,"  leading  her  to  a  chair,  and  seat 
ing  himself  near  her,  "  and  permit  me  to  speak  to  you  in 
a  very  frank,  brotherly  manner." 

She  could  not  conceal  her  surprise.  Mr.  Carnew's 
manner  was  so  different  from  what  it  used  to  be.  He 
was  almost  like  Dyke  in  the  kindly,  protecting  air  he  had 
assumed — he  who  had  been  so  reserved — and  she  lifted 
her  wide,  clear  eyes  in  a  manner  that  showed  her  won 
der,  and  also  her  pleasure.  He  smiled  and  continued  : 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  right  of  a  friend,  Miss  Edgar, 
to  question  you  upon  your  circumstances,  what  means 
you  have  of  living  now,  out  of  position  as  you  are,  what 
you  intend  to  do  in  the  future  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  any  want,"  she  answered,  smiling  back 
at  him.  "  Mrs.  Doloran's  compensation  for  my  poor  ser 
vices  has  been  so  ample  as  to  place  me  beyond  reach  of 
need  for  some  time  to  come.  Regarding  the  future,  I 
think  I  shall  be  able  to  secure  another  position  in  the 
spring." 

"Another  position!  Do  you  mean  that  you  will  hire 
yourself  out  again  as  a  lady's  companion  ? " 

"  Yes,"  with  a  smile  that  was  almost  a  laugh. 

"  Miss  Edgar,  may  I  be  very  frank,  even  to  the  verge 
of  impertinence  ? " 

"  As  frank  as  you  please,  Mr.  Carnew,"  wondering 
what  he  wanted  to  know. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  you  were  engaged  to 
be  married"-  -  she  started,  and  he  regarded  her  emotion 
as  one  of  astonishment  that  he  had  guessed  her  secret  so 
well —  "but  that  want  of  means  prevented  an  immediate 
fulfilment  of  the  contract ;  if  such  be  the  case,  it  will  be 
my  delight  to  remove  the  obstacle,  to  give  to  Mr.  Duttoii 
and  yourself—  "  lie  could  get  no  further,  for  she  had 


192 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


risen  to  her  feet,  and  exclaimed  in  an.  amazed,  perplexed 
way : 

"  Mr.  Button  !  Who  said  I  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  him?"  It  was  Mr.  Carnew's  turn  to  be  confused. 
He  also  rose. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Edgar ;  no  one  has  ever  said  a  word 
to  me  about  it ;  I  surmised  such  to  be  the  case  from  the 
devotion  you  seemed  to  show  him." 

"Poor  Dyke!"  said  Ned,  her  voice  very  tremulous, 
"he  is  my  brother,  the  dearest,  truest,  best  friend  I  have, 
but  not  my  lover  ; "  and  then  with  her  eyes  swimming, 
and  her  cheeks  flushing  until  the  color  mounted  to  her 
forehead,  she  told  the  tale  of  her  childhood  ;  all  Dyke's 
fatherly  care  of  her,  Meg's  motherly  tenderness,  and  all 
about  the  little  mountain  home  which  she  loved  so  well. 
Her  own  deeply  stirrred  feelings  made  her  eloquent,  and 
never,  Alan  thought,  had  she  looked  so  beautiful.  Her 
love  of  and  gratitude  to  these  simple  people  was  another 
virtue  in  her  most  estimable  character,  and  when  she  had 
finished,  unable  to  restrain  longer  the  confession  of  his 
heart,  he  said,  almost  as  tremulously  as  she  herself  had 
spoken : 

"  Since  you  are  not  engaged,  may  /"sue  for  your  hand  ? 
My  heart  is  already  yours." 

Had  she  heard  aright?  Had  he  whom  she  loved  so 
well,  actually  proposed  to  her  ?  Was  it  true,  then,  that  he 
had  not  gone  to  offer  himself  to  Edna,  but  that  he  really 
loved  her?  Heaven  was  too  kind,  and  with  a  gasp 
that  was  almost  a  sob,  she  put  her  hands  into  his  so  ap- 
pealingly  outstretched,  and  with  a  great,  glad  thrill  of 
delight,  he  knew  that  he  was  answered. 

"  But  your  aunt,"  she  said,  when  the  violence  of  her 
emotion  having  passed,  she  was  able  to  look  up  and  to 
speak  calmly. 

Carnew  felt  like  uttering  some  very  profane  exclama 
tion  in  connection  with  his  relative,  but  he  repressed  it 
and  said  instead : 

u  As  I  am  quite  of  age  and  have   ample  means  in  my 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  193 

own  right,  I  do  not  know  that  my  aunt  will  have  any 
authority  in  this  matter.  I  shall  announce  my  engage 
ment  to  her  to-day,  and  I  shall  have  preparations  made 
for  receiving  you  at  Rahandabed." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  shudderingly  responded,  "after  all  that 
has  passed  between  Mrs.  Doloran  and  myself  I  cannot 
meet  her." 

"  As  my  affianced,  Ned,  you  will  have  nothing  to  fear. 
You  will  iind  Mrs.  Doloran,  the  lady  to  whom  you  were 
companion,  and  Mrs.  Doloran,  the  aunt  of  the  party  to 
whom  you  are  engaged  to  be  married,  two  very  different 
persons.  Also,  my  pride  will  not  be  satisfied  unless  the 
guests  of  Rahandabed  receive  you  as  an  equal,  which  they 
will  only  be  too  well  pleased  to  do  now.  They  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  slighting  you;  I  want  them  to  have  the 
agony  of  receiving  you." 

Thus  he  argued  down  every  objection  she  interposed, 
and  he  was  so  lovingly  iirrn  about  it  that  she  was 
obliged  to  yield.  When  he  left  her  she  promised  to  be 
ready  to  accompany  him  to  Rahandabed  the  next  morn 
ing. 

And  when  he  left  her  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 
cried  from  very  joy.  Tier  happiness  was  so  unexpected, 
so  great.  Then  she  wrote  to  Dyke  a  full  account  of 
everything  that  had  happened,  and-  a  whole  page  filled 
with  her  own  blissful  feelings.  Her  pen  seemed  to  dance 
over  the  paper,  and  she  could  have  filled  another  sheet, 
but  that  she  had  some  mercy  on  Dyke's  eyes  and  time. 
She  closed  it  with  :' 

"  I  know,  dear  Dyke,  all  this  will  make  you  as  happy 
as  it  has  made  me,  and  that  you  will  give  your  choicest 
blessing  to  your  "  OWN  NED." 

Dyke  received  that  letter  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
busy  days ;  still  he  could  have  snatched  a  few  moments 
for  its  perusal,  but  he  only  pressed  it  secretly  to  his  lips 
and  put  it  into  his  bosom,  lie  preferred  to  read  it  in 
the  solitude  of  his  own  room  that  evening  when  he  could 
drink  in  all  by  himself  the  pleasure,  the  bliss  which  her 


194:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

letters  gave  him.     And  that  day  something  most  unex 
pected  came  to  him. 

The  head  of  the  firm  sought  him,  and  offered  him  a 
partnership  in  the  business. 

"  We  have  watched  you  closely,  Mr.  Dutton,"  he  said, 
"and  we  have  observed  in  you  business  faculties  most 
valuable,  but  most  rare.  They  will  stand  to  us  in  the 
place  of  money  you  would  otherwise  have  to  give,  and 
they  will  be  of  equal  assistance  to  the  firm." 

Button  went  home  with  an  elastic  step.  Now  would 
he  be  able  to  provide  well  for  Ned  without  even  waiting 
for  the  spring.  He  could  bring  both  her  and  Meg  to 
New  York  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter,  and  in  the 
summer  he  could  have  the  little  mountain  home  improved 
into  a  pretty  country  residence.  He  would  have  means 
for  all  that  now.  Thus  delightedly  planning,  he  was  in 
too  high  spirits  to  delay  long  at  his  supper,  and  he  hur 
ried  to  his  room  to  read  his  precious  letter. 

After  one  perusal  it  fell  from  his  hand,  and  his  head 
dropped  forward  on  the  little  table  beside  which  he  sat. 
What  a:i  agony  shook  him  !  It  seemed  as  if  his  heart 
would  burst  in  that,  wave  of  sorrow.  And  for  the  first 
fierce  moments  his  soul  cried  out  against  fate,  which  ever 
seemed  determined  to  snatch  joy  from  him  just  as  it  was 
within  his  grasp.  Then  his  manhood  returned  ;  that  true 
manhood  which  is  brave  in  adversity  and  disappointment. 
He  called  up  all  his  own  hopes  and  wishes  for  Ned,  that 
she  might  be  a  lady,  mingling  in  the  society  which  she 
was  so  well  fitted  to  adorn  ;  here  was  the  fulfilment  of  all 
Ids.  wishes  ;  surely  he  ought  to  rejoice.  And  he  tried  to 
do  so,  but  his  heart  ached  in  the  effort,  and  his  temples 
throbbed  with  agony.  Ned  had  been  so  dear,  so  constantly 
cherished.  He  took  out  from  a  secret  recess  the  packet 
of  her  letters ;  every  letter  she  had  ever  written  to 
him,  from  the  first  childish  epistle  that  she  sent  from 
school.  He  opened  them  one  by  one,  and  read  them  all. 
Then  he  folded  them  again,  and  tied  them  in  their  old 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLAMJE.  195 

position,  adding  the  one  lie  had  that  day  received,  and  put 
them  back. 

How  conld  he  write  to  her  with  his  heart  so  blistered  ? 
How  could  he  congratulate  her  on  a  happiness  that  was 
his  own  death-blow  ?  And  for  a  little  his  head  fell  for 
ward  again  on  the  table,  and  he  yielded  to  his  agony.  But 
in  it  there  was  no  reproach  of  Ned.  He  knew  now  that 
she  had  not  understood  any  of  his  letters,  and  that  she 
had  never  dreamed  of  his  lover-like  affection. 

He  looked  up  at  last,  the  fiercest  of  his  feelings  con 
quered  ;  and  with  a  trembling  hand  he  sought  his  writing 
materials.  She  never  dreamed  when  she  received  that 
true,  tender  answer  to  her  own  letter,  in  what  agony  it 
had  been  penned  ;  she  did  not  even  dream  that  the  blister 
upon  her  own  name  was  caused  by  Dyke's  tear.  She 
pressed  the  letter  to  her  lips  and  to  her  heart,  for  it  was 
so  tender  and  so  good ;  but  even  she  did  not  know  how 
self-sacrificing,  how  noble  was  the  writer. 

XXXVII. 

Mrs.  Doloran  went  into  hysterics  when  told  by  her 
nephew  of  his  intention  to  make,  not  Edna,  but  deter 
mined,  impertinent  Ned,  his  bride;  her  own  peculiar 
hysterics,  that  threw  the  whole  house  into  a  confusion, 
and  demanded  fast  and  furious  attention  from  those  about 
her.  She  kicked  with  her  feet,  and  worked  with  her 
hands,  and  jerked  with  her  head,  to  the  imminent  danger 
of  all  in  her  vicinity,  and  then  she  paused  long  enough  to 
stigmatize  Alan  for  his  ingratitude,  and  to  predict  for 
him  dire  unhappiness  in  his  choice  of  a  wife,  after  which 
she  laughed  and  cried  in  a  breath,  and  then  resumed  her 
violent  contortions. 

Everybody  in  the  house,  from  the  latest  guest  to  ^  the 
newest  servant,  heard  in  a  very  short  time  the  cause  of  the 
commotion  made  by  Mrs.  Doloran,  for  gossiping  tongues 
were  plenty  to  repeat  all  that  the  mistress  of  Rahandabed 
said  in  her  foolish  temper;  and  consternation,  disappoint- 


196  A    FATAL    KESEMBLAJSTCE. 

irieiit,  and  envy,  and  even  something  like  dismay  actuated 
the  hearts  of  most  of  the  feminine  guests,  especially  those 
who  had  treated  Ned  only  as  a  hired  companion. 

Carnew  knew  his  aunt  so  well  that  he  was  not  unpre 
pared  for  such  a  scene,  and  he  retired  to  his  own  apart 
ment  until  she  should  be  in.  a  more  rational  condition. 

"  Mascar,  where  are  you,  and  where  am  I  ? "  when  her 
temper  brought  no  result  save  the  disappearance  of  Alan, 
and  an  array  of  attendants,  and  she  raised  her  head  from 
the  couch  to  which,  with  main  strength,  she  had  been 
borne,  and  she  affected  to  speak  with  so  much  feebleness 
that  it  was  extremely  ludicrous. 

"Here,  Mrs.  Doloran,"  and  Ordotte  showed  himself 
from  a  corner  of  the  room,  whither  he  had  taken  refuge 
until  her  pugilistic  efforts  should  cease. 

"  Won't  you  give  me  my  salts  and  find  my  fan,  and 
arrange  this  cushion — I  am  so  exhausted,"  and  back  went 
the  head  with  feigned  helplessness,  while  her  maid  stood 
aside  to  let  the  gentleman  obey  the  many  behests.  But  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  said,  as  if  she  were  delivering  her 
last  will  and  testament : 

"  Does  not  your  heart  bleed  for  me,  Mascar  ?  Well  has 
the  poet  said,  '  Better  is  a  serpent's  tooth,  than  a  thank 
ful  child.' ':  In  her  various  emotions  she  was  not  conscious 
how  she  had  twisted  the  quotation.  "  And  what  have  I 
not  done  for  him  ?  Brought  him  up,  and  loved  him  as  if 
he  was  my  own  son.  Oh,  my  sorrows  are  greater  than  I 
can  bear." 

And  again  the  eyes  were  closed,  and  the  whole  attitude 
that  of  one  about  to  faint.  With  perfect  gravity,  Ordotte 
motioned  the  maid  to  attend  her  mistress  while  he  sur 
veyed  the  scene  from  a  little  distance.  As  soon  as  she 
pretended  to  recover  he  was  at  her  side. 

She  sat  up,  trying  to  appear  very  weak,  and  very  much 
of  a  martyr ;  her  voice  was  most  languishing  as  she  bade 
her  maid  retire  to  the  adjoining  room,  and  as  she  again 
addressed  Ordotte : 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  197 

"You  have  not  delivered  your  opinion  of  Alan's 
shameful  conduct." 

Ordotte  stroked  his  mustache  once  or  twice,  and  then 
answered  quietly : 

"  My  opinion  is,  that  Mr.  Carnew  has  shown  excellent 
judgment  in  his  choice  of  a  wife.  Miss  Ned  is  a  young 
lady  quite  worthy  of  becoming  your  niece." 

u  Mascar ! " 

She  fairly  shrieked  his  name,  every  trace  of  her  pre 
tended  weakness  gone.  She  was  even  sitting  bolt  upright, 
her  hand  clutching  his  arm. 

"  Think,"  she  said  in  her  high  shrill  voice,  "  Ned  had 
to  earn  her  living  y  I  paid  her  for  being  my  companion  !  " 

"  And  highly  favored  you  were  to  get  her  to  be  your 
companion  ;  and  working  for  one's  living  is  rather  to  be 
commended.  Come,  Mrs.  Doloran,  be  yourself  again, 
and  accept  what  can  neither  be  controlled  nor  avoided. 
Alan  will  certainly  marry  this  love  of  his,  and  if  you  con 
tinue  to  show  your  displeasure,  you  will  drive  him  entirely 
from  Itahandabed.  I  have  heard  you  say  that  you  loved 
him  too  well  to  give  him  up  entirely ;  besides,  how  the 
country  will  talk  if  you  permit  this  rupture  to  be.  Call 
your  accustomed  good  sense  to  you,  and  receive  Miss  Ned. 
Accompany  Alan  when  he  goes  for  her,  and  my  word  for 
it,  you  will  be  much  happier  than  by  seeking  to  gain  your 
ends  in  this  manner." 

But  his  arguments,  weighty  with  her  as  they  had  been 
always  heretofore,  had  to  be  repeated,  and  made  still  more 
forcible  before  she  could  bring  herself  this  time  to  yield, 
and  it  was  only  when  he  had  impressed  upon  her  that 
Alan  would  have  his  way  regardless  of  her,  that  she  con 
sented  to  send  for  her  nephew.  When  she  had  thus 
consented,  with  her  usual  talent  for  quick  transitions  of 
feeling  she  became  astonishingly  changed,  and  Alan 
found  her  as  ready  to  accede  to  his  wishes  as  she  was  be 
fore  opposed  to  them ;  nay,  even  eager  to  hurry  their 
fulfilment.  She  could  scarcely  wait  until  morning  to  go 
for  Ned. 


198  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

In  the  morning  she  insisted  upon  going  in  the  same 
stylish  equipage  in  which  she  had  made  her  former  call, 
and  Alan,  assured  that  she  had  the  friendliest  spirit,  did 
not  oppose  her.  He  took  his  seat  beside  her  without  a 
word  of  remonstrance,  and  once  more  the  good  people 
with  whom  Ned  sojourned  were  surprised  by  a  visit  from 
the  wealthy  and  eccentric  mistress  of  Rahandabed.  -  But 
this  time,  there  were  no  loud  and  angry  words  from  the 
lady  to  shock  and  amaze  them,  for  she  absolutely  rushed 
at  Ned  and  folded  her  in  her  ample  arms  in  a  way  that 
took  the  gill's  breath  for  a  moment. 

"  You  dear,  charming,  sly  creature,"  she  said,  "  never 
to  let  me  know  that  you  had  won  Alan's  heart ;  but  then 
Alan  tells  me  you  didn't  know  it  yourself.  And  how 
mistaken  I  have  been  to  think  he  loved  that  bewitching 
Edna.  And  Mascar  speaks  so  beautifully  of  you.  What 
have  you  done  to  win  them  all  ?  And  me  !  Can  you  ever 
forgive  those  dreadful  things  I  said  to  you  ?  But  I  didn't 
mean  them,  Ned  ;  it  was  only  my  temper  that  spoke. 
See  how  good  I  shall  be  to  you,  now."  And  Ned  was 
subjected  to  another  uncomfortable  hug,  while  Carnew 
looked  on  with  an  expression  of  such  amusement  that  it 
came  near  evoking  from  Ned  a  burst  of  laughter. 

Mrs.  Doloran  had  actually  worked  herself  into  feeling 
all  that  she  said.  Hers  was  one  of  those  shallow,  emo 
tional,  though  sometimes  obstinate  natures  which  may 
be  easily  turned,  and  she  would  continue  to  imagine  that 
she  had  quite  forgiven,  and  really  liked  Ned,  while 
nothing  occurred  to  lessen  the  esteem  in  which  the  young 
lady  was  held  by  Carnew  or  Ordotte. 

So  Ned  was  triumphantly  re-established  in  Rahanda 
bed  ;  the  guests  fawned  upon  her,  those  who  most  slighted 
her  being  most  forward  in  their  attentions;  the  servants 
paid  as  much  court  to  her  as  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  and  that 
lady  fairly  lavished  attentions  upon  her.  Indeed,  Ned 
might  be  said  to  queen  it  in  Rahandabed,  and  often  she 
was  so  happy,  she  questioned  the  reality  of  it  all.  Car- 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  199 

new  was  most  devoted,  lie  rode  with  her,  walked  with  her, 
and  was  by  her  side  constantly  in  the  evenings. 

She  bore  her  honors  with  a  sweet,  modest  dignity  ;  no 
one  could  detect  an  iota  of  pride  or  triumph  in  her  man 
ner  ;  she  was  as  gentle  and  simple  and  kind  as  in  the  old 
days,  even  insisting  upon  giving  something  of  her  old  at 
tendance  to  Mrs.  l)oloran,  until  Alan  interposed. 

u  You  are  not  a  'companion '  in  that  sense  of  the  word 
any  longer,"  he  said. 

Sometimes  Carnew  yearned  to  ask  about  Mackay,  for 
every  word  of  what  Edna  had  once  said  to  him  seemed  to 
have  been  burned  upon  his  brain  ;  but  as  often  he  re 
frained  from  doing  so.  If  she  had  been  guilty  of  coquetry 
with  him,  a  coquetry  which  had  even  sent  him  to  his 
death,  he  did  not,  after  all,  want  to  know  it,  and  if  she 
were  not,  he  would  not  for  worlds  pain  her  by  letting  her 
know  that  lie  had  ever  entertained  such  a  suspicion.  So 
he  was  silent  on  the  subject,  and  she  spoke  only  of  the 
past  as  it  referred  to  Dyke  and  Meg  and  her  mountain 
home ;  she  never  spoke  of  Mr.  Edgar,  nor  of  her  life  in 
Weewald  Place.  It  was  such  an  unpleasant  memory  she 
could  not  bear  to  revert  to  it,  and  Carnew,  divining  her 
dislike  to  speak  of  it,  would  not  intrude  upon  her  silence 
by  a  single  question. 

She  had  not  received  any  letter  from  Edna  since  Car- 
new's  return  from  his  visit  to  her  father,  so  she  felt  that 
she  might  with  impunity  refrain  from  writing  to  her 
cousin.  She  was  most  reluctant  to  write,  as  her  letter 
would  have  to  contain  an  account  of  her  engagement,  and 
that  might  cause  a  pang  to  Edna. 

The  winter  passed  as  never  a  winter  since  she  was  a 
child  had  passed  to  Ned  before,  for  her  life  was  so  happy. 
Often,  as  the  thought  of  Carnew's  strong,  true  love 
thrilled  her  with  delight,  she  exclaimed  to  herself : 

"  I  am  so  happy ;  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  " 

It  was  only  the  calm  before  the  storm.  A  cup  so  bitter 
was  to  be  ere  long  at  her  lips,  that  her  worst  enemies 
might  look  on  aghast  while  she  drank  it. 


I 


200  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


XXXVIII. 

In  the  second  month  of  the  spring  Ned  was  to  be 
married  ;  a  quiet  ceremony  performed  in  Rahandabed, 
followed  by  a  wedding  breakfast,  after  which  the  young 
couple  were  to  take  a  brief  trip  to  New  York,  Washing 
ton,  and  a  few  other  prominent  cities.  In  deference  to 
Ids  aunt,  to  whom  Carnew  was  especially  grateful  for  her 
kind  treatment  of  his  betrothed,  he  had  agreed  to  make 
the  trip  thus  short,  but  he  intended  to  take  his  bride  to 
Europe  the  ensuing  winter. 

And  Dyke  and  Meg  must  be  at  the  wedding  ;  'Ned.  sent 
the  most  loving  letters  to  them,  letters  with  affectionate 

Iostscripts  appended  by  Carnew.,  entreating  them  to  gratify 
er.  But  Meg  was  confined  to  bed  from  an  attack  of 
rheumatism  that  the  doctor  said  would  render  her  unable' 
to  travel  for  three  months  to  come,  and  Dyke  wrote  in 
his  tender,  loving  way  that  lie  could  give  no  decided 
answer  yet.  She  did  not  dream  that  his  indecision  came 
from  the  cowardice  begotten  of  his  love  for  her.  He 
doubted  if  his  heart  could  bear  to  see  her  given  to  another ; 
whether  his  very  manhood  would  not  forsake  him  at  the 
sight.  He  kissed  her  letter  and  put  it  away,  but  not  with 
the  packet  of  her  former  letters  ;  those  in  some  sense  were 
more  precious,  more  his  own. 

It  became  incumbent  upon  Ned  to  write  at  last  to 
Edna,  from  whom  she  had  not  received  a  single  line  in  all 
those  months,  in  order  to  apprise  her  of  her  approaching 
wedding,  and  to  write  also  to  Mr.  Edgar,  which  she  did 
in  her  kindly  way,  thanking  him  for  all  that  he  had  done 
for  her,  and  asking  him  to  forgive  any  annoyance  or  dis 
pleasure  she  had  ever  caused  him. 

What  was  her  amazement  to  receive  from  Edna  the  fol 
lowing  reply : 

"MYDEARKST  NED: — Can  you  imagine  anything 
more  singular?  At  the  very  instant  I.  received  your 
btter,  I  was  about  to  write  to  you,  to  apprise  you  of  my 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  201 

approaching  wedding.  Only,  I  shall  be  married  at  an 
earlier  date,  three  weeks  from  to-morrow ;  yours  will  be 
three  weeks  later.  My  engagement  has  been  very  brief, 
and  the  ceremony  will  be  quiet  and  hurried.  We  are 
going  to  Europe  immediately  after  it,  my  husband  and 
I ;  papa  does  not  feel  well  enough  to  accompany  us.  But 
all  this  time,  I  declare,  I  have  not  told  you  who  is  to  be 
the  bridegroom.  'No  less  than  our  old  friend,  Mr.  Brek- 
bellew " 

Ned  could  read  no  further,  for  a  moment,  from  aston 
ishment.  Brekbellew,  who  had  been  the  butt  of  Rahan- 
dabed,  he  had  only  departed  a  month  before ;  whose 
insipid  conversation  she  had  heard  Edna  frequently  ridi 
cule  ;  who  had  nothing  to  recommend  him  save  his  wealth, 
and  Edna  surely  had  110  need  of  that ;  could  it  be  possible 
that  she  was  about  to  give  her  heart  and  hand  to  that 
man?  And  how  had  her  father's  consent  been  won  to 
such  a  union  ?  She  resumed  the  letter,  but  it  explained 
nothing  that  so  puzzled,  and  in  some  sense  shocked  her. 
It  only  said : 

"  You  know  how  devoted  the  poor  fellow  used  to  be 
to  me ;  I  felt  I  must  reward  him.  As  our  wedding  is  to 
be  so  quiet  and  hurried,  I  cannot  invite  you  to  be  present 
at  it;  and  as  we  shall  leave  in  such  haste,  there  will  be  no 
time  to  see  you ;  but  I  know,  my  dear  Ned,  that  you  will 
give  me  your  very  best  wishes,  as  I  give  you  mine. 

"  Yours  lovingly,  EDNA." 

A  postscript  stated  that  Mrs.  Stafford  had  gone  to  Eng 
land  to  make  her  permanent  home  there. 

She  also  received  an  answer  from  Mr.  Edgar,  an 
answer  that  chilled  her  to  the  very  soul — it  was  so  coldly 
courteous.  Miss  Edgar  having  chosen  to  remove  herself 
so  completely  from  his  authority  or  advice,  he  knew  not 
why  she  should  deem  it  necessary  to  ask  his  forgiveness 
for  anything,  or  even  to  apprise  him  of  her  intended 
change  in  life.  There  was  not  the  most  remote  allusion 
to  his  daughter's  marriage,  nor  the  slightest  wish  for 
Ned's  happiness. 


A    FATAL,    RESEMBLANCE. 

She  crushed  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  thrust  it  into 
her  pocket,  with  an  uncontrollable  feeling  of  anger  and 
disappointment.  This  cold,  aggravating  man  might 
surely,  at  such  a  time,  have  given  her  one  kind  word. 

Edna's  letter  she  showed  to  Carnew.  lie  read  it 
through  without  a  word,  and  then  he  looked  at  her — a 
peculiarly  amused  and  lingering  look.  For  once,  mas 
culine  wisdom  had  been  greater  than  feminine  astuteness ; 
he  divined,  or  imagined  that  he  divined,  the  motives 
which  prompted  Edna's  hurried  and  ill-matched  mar 
riage — -pique  at  her  disappointment  in  securing  a  more 
eligible  offer,  and  ambition  to  be  married  before  Ned 
should  be.  But  seeing  that  his  guileless  companion  had 
no  such  thoughts,  he  did  not  tel]  her  what  his  own  were, 
but  returned  the  letter  to  her  with  a  broader  smile  still, 
and  a  hope  that  Edna  would  be  happy.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  showing  him  Mr.  Edgar's  letter  also,  but  she  re 
frained,  thinking  that,  if  she  did,  it  would  make  Carnew 
dislike  him ;  and  since  she  owed  her  education  and  her 
home,  for  a  part  of  her  life,  to  the  gentleman,  she  could 
not  bear,  in  common  gratitude,  to  diminish  any  friend 
ship  he  might  have  won. 

That'  same  afternoon,  Macgilivray  brought  a  message 
to  her  from  Josephine. 

She's  scarcely  a'  there,"  said  the  honest,  sympathizing 
fellow,  his  expressive  Scotch  way  of  putting  that  her  mind 
was  not  right,  "  an'  the  doctor  says  she'll  dinna  last  till 
morning.  She's  sair  tribbled,  Miss  Ned,  an'  she's  ca'd 
mony  times  for  you.  Perhaps  you  wad  nae  min'  gang  to 
the  pair  creature." 

Of  course,  Ned  did  not  mind ;  she  even  gave  up  her 
afternoon  ride  with  Alan,  leaving  a  Little  note  of  excuse 
for  him  lest,  did  she  tell  him,  he  might  object  to  her 
visiting  Josephine  just  then.  He  had  already  demurred 
at  the  frequency  of  her  visits  to  the  girl,  signifying  his 
readiness  to  provide  for  the  unfortunate  creature  in  every 
other  way  than  in  allowing  her  any  of  the  society  of  his  in 
tended.  He  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  his  pure, 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  20$ 

lovely  betrothed  sitting  at  the  bedside  of  that  erring 
woman.  But  the  erring  woman  was  soothed  and  bene 
fited  by  Ned's  visit  to  such  a  degree  that  the  old  Scotch 
wife,  with  whom  she  stayed,  regarded  the  young  lady  as 
little  less  than  an  angel ;  and  Ned's  own  tender  charity 
disposed  her  to  minister,  in  whatever  way  she  could,  to 
the  comfort  of  Josephine,  even  to  the  verge  of  offending 
Carnew.  But,  generally  her  plea  for  the  poor  girl  won 
him,  and  lie  so  far  yielded  as  not  to  forbid  her  visits. 

The  secret  that  the  poor  French  girl  so  well  kept,  not 
even  telling  it  to  Ned,  preyed  upon  her  with  bitter  effect. 
It  made  her  ill,  and  sent  her  to  her  bed  before  even  the 
birth  of  her  child.  For  days  she  lay  there,  silent  and 
uncomplaining,  until  the  strain  went  to  her  brain,  and  she 
was  "not  a'  there,"  as  Macgilivray  had  expressed  it. 
Then  she  called  for  "Mademoiselle"  Ned;  it  was  the 
one  name  upon  her  lips  ail  that  night  and  all  the  next 
morning,  and  the  Scotcli  wife  watched  for  Macgilivray 
when  he  drove  to  the  village,  which  he  did  every  day, 
either  with  or  for  guests,  in  order  to  ask  him  to  tell  the 
young  lady. 

When  Ned  arrived  at  the  little  cottage,  she  found  all 
in  commotion.  Josephine's  baby  had  been  born  two 
hours  before,  but  still-born,  and  the  young  mother  would 
hardly  live  through  the  night,  the  doctor  said.  But  she 
was  quite  herself,  with  a  consciousness  of  and  a  resigna 
tion  to  her  circumstances  almost  touching.  She  asked 
for  "  Mademoiselle,"  begging  that  she  might  be  sent  for ; 
and  when  informed  that  Macgilivray  had  promised  to 
tell  the  young  lady,  tears  of  gladness  and  relief  came 
into  her  eyes.  When  Ned  came,  she  extended  botli  of 
her  thin  hands  to  greet  her : 

"  The  doctor  has  told  me  that  I  will  not  live,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  would  be  so  glad,  only  for  my  poor  little  sister — 

she  has  no  one  " tears  prevented  her  speaking,  and  she 

covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  let  her  tears  have 
their  way  through  her  wan  white  fingers. 

"  I  shall  see  to  her,"  said  Ned,  "  always  see  to  her ; 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


only  yesterday  Mr.  Carnew  paid  her  school  bill  a  year  in 
advance,  and  he  has  told  the  managers  of  the  institute  to 
draw  upon  him  for  all  her  expenses." 

"  O  mademoiselle,  how  can  I  thank  you  ?  What  have 
you  not  done  for  me  ;  you  are  an  angel.  If  the  blessing 
of  a  poor,  sinful  creature  like  me  can  be  of  any  use,  you 
have  it ;  but  God  will  bless  you." 

She  covered  Ned's  hands  with  kisses,  and  shed  her 
happy  tears  upon  them. 

"  They  told  you  about  my  baby,"  sin  resumed,  "didn't 
they  ?•  And  how  glad  I  am  that  it  is  (load  ;  for,  poor  little 
one,  what  would  it  do  ?  Draw  your  chair  closer,  made 
moiselle,  for  I  want  to  say  something  very  secret.  I  want 
to  tell  you,  you  who  have  been  so  good  to  me,  and  now 
that  I  am  dying,  who  the  father  of  my  child  is  ;  but  you 
must  promise  me  not  to  tell  any  one,  for  I  love  him,  and  I 
want  to  show  my  love  of  him  by  going  down  to  my  grave 
without  giving  his  name  to  any  but  you.  It  is  —  "  with 
a  sort  of  gasp  in  uttering  the  words,  "  Harry  Brekbel- 
lew. " 

Ned  gave  a  violent  start,  and  for  a  moment  she  became 
as  pale  as  the  poor  sick  creature  beneath  her. 

"  You  are  surprised,  mademoiselle  ;  you  did  not  dream 
of  him,  for  he  never  looked  at  me  before  anybody  ;  but 
we  met  many  times  when  there  was  no  one  to  see,  and 
he  told  me  how  he  loved  me  from  the  first  time  I  came 
to  the  house  ;  and  I  grew  to  love  him,  until  now,  made 
moiselle,  even  now,  I  love  him  so  much  I  cannot  say  one 
word  against  him." 

"  But  he  has  wronged  you  so,"  burst  from  Ned ;  "  he 
has  deserted  you  when  it  was  his  duty  to  marry  you." 

"  I  shall  be  soon  gone,  mademoiselle,  and  as  my  child  is 
dead  it  makes  no  difference." 

"  But  it  will  be  my  duty  to  speak  of  this,"  said  Ned, 
her  face  very  pale  still. 

"  Oh,  no,  mademoiselle  !"  and  she  tried  to  raise  herself 
in  the  bed  in  order  to  make  her  entreaty  more  effectual, 
"  I  could  not  die  if  his  name  were  told." 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  205 

There  was  but  one  course  for  Ned  to  pursue  ;  to  tell  the 
dying  girl  that  Breakbellew  was  about  to  be  married,  and 
that  it  would  be  criminal  not  to  reveal  his  character  to 
the  lady  he  would  marry.  Tier  very  soul  shrank  from 
the  task,  for  she  feared  the  shock  it  would  give  to  her 
who  "  loved  too  well,''  but  it  was  the  only  way  to  win 
her  consent  to  the  revelation  of  his  name.  And  in  tlio 
interest  of  justice,  for 'the  sake  of  Edna,  whom  she  imag 
ined  as  having  full  trust,  at  least  in  Brekbellew's  upright 
character,  it  seemed  to  be  her  duty  to  do  so.  She  stooped 
down  and  told  it  as  gently  as  she  could. 

But  all  her  gentleness  did  not  temper  the  shock.  Jose 
phine  could  bear  his  heartless  desertion  in  her  hour  of 
trouble,  his  cruel  forgetfulness,  for  she  was  still 
buoyed  with  the  hope  that  her  devotion  to  him  in  the 
matter  of  not  revealing  his  name  would  touch  him, 
and  that  her  very  death  would  cause  him  to  have 
a  tender  memory  of  her ;  but  to  hear  that  he  was  about 
to  marry,  proved  so  conclusively  that  he  no  longer  cared 
in  the  least  for  her ;  indeed,  that  he  had  flung  away  all 
recollection  of  her,  that  every  vestige  of  the  slender  hope 
that  had  animated  her,  fled. 

"  O  mademoiselle  ! "  she  said,  taking  in  her  hot  grasp 
both  of  Ned's  hands,  "  that  is  the  last  pain.  You  can  tell 
the  lady  his  name,  for  my  heart  has  broken  now." 

It  seemed  so,  for  relinquishing  Ned's  hands  she  turned 
her  face  to  the  wall  with  a  great  sigh,  and  she  did  not 
speak  again.  The  young  lady  waited  a  long  time,  and  the 
old  Scotch  wife  came  in  and  leaned  over  her. 

"  She's  amaist  awa',"  she  said,  nodding  her  head  tit 
Ned.  "  She'll  noo  bide  till  night." 

Her  words  came  true,  for,  even  as  she  spoke,  there  wai 
a  motion  of  the  head  on  the  pillow,  a  swift,  upward  open 
ing  of  the  eyes  fora  second,  a  gasp,  and  all  was  over. 


206  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


XXXIX. 

Ned  was  so  pained  and  distressed,  and  even  shocked 
by  all  the  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  Joseph 
ine,  that  she  could  scarcely  hide  her  feelings  from  Carnew. 
lie  saw  that  she  was  pale  and  troubled,  and  at  times 
most  unwontedly  pre-occupied,  upon  all  of  which  he  ral 
lied  her,  and  said  that  he  was  glad  the  French  girl  was 
out  of  the  way,  since,  having  such  an  effect  upon  Ned, 
what  would  it  be  if  she  had  continued  to  live ;  and  he 
hoped  his  betrothed  would  not  happen  upon  any  more 
cases  of  the  kind.  He  liked  sisters  of  charity,  but  not 
exactly  in  his  own  family  ;  and  then  he  laughed  and  made 
wry  faces  at  Ned  and  his  aunt,  who  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  young  lady's  good  offices  in  behalf  of  Josephine  until 
ihe  death  of  the  girl,  when  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Gracious,  Ned !  how  could  you  ?  Don't  you  know 
you  might  injure  your  own  reputation  by  going  near  such 
a  creature  ?  I  wouldn't  have  her  a  minute  in  Rahandabed 
after  what  had  occurred." 

And  Mrs.  Doloran's  nose  went  up  to  a  much  higher  an 
gle  than  its  usual  elevation. 

Ned  wrote  to  Edna,  never  doubting  that  she  would 
break  off  her  engagement  immediately,  when  she  learned 
the  baseness  of  Brekbellew.  But  what  was  her  astonish 
ment  to  receive  in  reply : 

"My  DEAREST  NED: — The  circumstance  you  mention 
is  by  no  means  so  dreadful  as  your  imagination  pictures 
it  to  be.  Were  you  more  acquainted  witli  the  world,  you 
would  know  that  it  certainly  was  not  sufficient  to  break 
off  an  engagement  of  marriage.  In  us  of  the  frailer  sex, 
virtue  of  the  strictest  kind  is  expected  and  demanded, 
but  in  our  lords  and  masters  these  dreadful  things  are 
merely  youthful  indiscretions.  So  Mr.  Brekbellew  being 
only  guilty  of  a  '  youthful  indiscretion,'  it  would  be  most 
unjust  for  me  to  punish  him  as  severely  as  you  seem  to 
infer  that  I  ought  to  do,  and  it  would  be  most  unwise 
for  me  even  to  hint  that  I  had  heard  of  his  folly. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE,  207 

"  Wishing  you,  my  dearest  Ned,  a  deeper  wisdom  in 
the  future,  I  remain,  Yours, 

"  EDNA." 

Ned  was  disgusted,  and  for  once  she  fairly  contemned 
her  cousin.  Was  the  latter  utterly  devoid  of  heart  that 
she  could  write  thus,  when  Ned  had  depicted  in  strong 
est  language  the  love,  devotion,  and  suffering  of  the  un 
fortunate  French  girl  and  the  heartlessness  of  Brekbel- 
lew  ?  But  it  must  be  so,  else  how  could  she  so  easily 
and  so  soon  forget  poor  Mackay  ? 

In  little  less  than  three  weeks  all  E-ahandabed  received 
the  wedding  cards  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  and  also 
the  announcement  that  they  had  gone  immediately  to 
New  York,  thence  to  take  passage  for  Europe. 

u  That  beautiful  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Doloran,  "  to  marry 
such  a  monkey ;  but  that  just  proves  my  theory  about 
women ;  they're  fools  from  the  first  to  the  last  of  them," 
evidently  forgetting  that  she  was  including  in  the  same 
category  herself  and  Ned,  for  whom  she  now  professed 
such  an  ardent  affection. 

"  And  that  stiff,  unmannerly  old  father  of  hers,"  she 
resumed ;  "  it's  a  wonder  how  his  pride  could  ever  be 
reconciled  to  such  a  match — why,  he  snubbed  that  fool 
Brekbellew  when  lie  was  here." 

And  Alan  and  Ned  wondered  also,  but  they  were  too 
much  absorbed  in  the  preparations  making  for  their  own 
wedding  to  give  the  subject  over-much  thought. 

Dyke  wrote  at  the  very  last  that  he  was  not  coming  ; 
and  it  was  true  that  his  business  (he  being  the  newest 
partner  in  the  firm)  claimed  very  close  attention,  but  he  did 
not  say  that  he  was  glad  it  was  so,  for  he  felt  now  that  he 
could  not  witness  unmoved  the  marriage  of  Ned.  She 
had  written  that  he  must  give  her  away,  that  Alan  said 
so,  and  that  that  fact  contributed  so  much  to  her  happi 
ness,  all  of  which  Dyke  answered  in  the  inimitably  ten 
der  way  so  peculiarly  his  own — a  way  that  told  so  much, 
arid  yet  that  told  nothing  he  would  conceal. 


208  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Ned  cried  from  disappointment  when  she  received  the 
letter.  Neither  Meg  nor  Dyke  to  be  at  her  wedding ! 
All  Rahandabed  could  not  make  up  for  their  absence,  and 
Carnew  coming  upon  her,  still  in  tears,  also  read  the  let 
ter. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  he  said,  sympathizing^  ;  "  but  we 
shall  punish  him,  Ned.  We  shall  stop  long  enough  in 
New  York  to  have  him  call  upon  us,  and  if  this  driving 
business  of  his  won't  even  let  him  do  that,  we  shall  call 
upon  him,  if  necessary,  at  his  business  place." 

"  O  Alan,  how  good  you  are !  I  never  thought  of 
that,"  looking  at  him  with  smiles  and  tears. 

"  Well,  prove  your  gratitude  by  drying  your  eyes  at 
once,  and  permitting  me  to  tell  Ordotte  that  you  will  let 
him  give  you  away.  lie  is  most  anxious  to  have  that 
privileged  position." 

"  Is  lie,  really  \ "  half  interested  and  half  amused. 

"  Why,  yes ;  he  has  been  talking  most  mysteriously 
about  his  right  to  do  so,  and  if  I  were  not  familiar  with 
his  strange  innuendoes  and  strange  insinuations,  put  forth 
to  excite  my  aunt's  laughable  curiosity,  I  would  say  he 
knew  some  secret  about  you,  Ned." 

"  No  secret  about  me,"  she  rejoined,  laughing.  "  Every 
thing  plain  as  the  day.  I  have  had  it  from  Meg  a  hun 
dred  times — a  poor  little  English  waif  in  whom  Mr.  Ed 
gar  became  interested  because  I  happened  to  bear  the 
same  name  as  his  daughter,  and  he  knew  my  parents  ; 
only  for  those  fortunate  facts,  I  might  have  grown  up  a 
poor,  neglected  orphan." 

Alan  did  not  answer ;  he  loved  her  so  well  that  lie 
questioned  nothing  about  her.  She  was  the  queen  of  his 
heart,  and  he  wanted  no  more. 

The  wedding  morning  arrived,  and  even  the  weather 
seemed  to  have  some  nuptial  design,  for  never  had  the 
sun  shone  more  brightly,  nor  the  foliage  about  the 
grounds  of  Rahandabed  looked  greener.  The  very  birds 
were  carolling  in  such  a  way  that  they  woke  up  Ned 
even  before  it  was  time  for  her  to  arise.  She  could  not 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  209 

sleep  again,  however,  and  she  rose,  as  it  were,  to  "  nurse 
her  joy."  All  night  she  had  been  in  the  little  mountain 
home,  a  child  again,  talking  to  the  trees  in  her  quaint, 
childish  language,  with  fond  old  Meg,  and  true,  tender 
Dyke  about  her  ;  and  as  she  realized  that  all  that  was 
entirely  gone,  that  on  to-day  she  was  to  pass  a  Rubicon 
which  would  separate  her  forever  from  her  maidenhood, 
that  never  in  all  the  years  to  come  could  she  ever  experi 
ence  any  of  her  childhood's  delights,  burning  tears  started 
from  her  eyes,  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Yet 
she  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  her  happiness.  She 
was  only  obeying  the  strange  impulse  of  regret  for 
something  lost  which  to  strong  natures  comes  most 
forcibly  in  moments  of  greatest  happiness,  or  perchance 
it  was  an  unconscious  sympathy  with  Dyke,  something 
only  to  be  explained  on  the  principles  of  second-sight 
and  presentiments,  for  at  that  same  hour,  early  though  it 
was — but  he  had  scarcely  slept  all  night — Dyke  was  read 
ing  her  letters,  reading  them  for  the  last  time  while  she 
was  a  maiden,  he  said  to  himself. 

When  Ned  found  the  tears  on  her  cheeks,  she  brushed 
them  away  hurriedly,  and  then  laughed  as  she  did  so,  be 
cause  of  her  silly  superstition,  for  she  had  read  some 
where  that : 

"  The  tears  of  a  bride  on  her  wedding  morn, 
Bring  grief  and  neglect,  and  the  finger  of  scorn." 

Owing  to  Ordotte's  frequent  interposition j  Mrs.  Dolo- 
ran's  desire  for  vulgar  display  in  the  preparations  for  the 
wedding  had  been  kept  decently  subduod,  though  in  the 
matter  of  her  own  toilet  she  was  provocative  of  mirth  on 
every  side. 

Never  was  a  sweeter  bride  than  Ned.  Tier  own  exqui 
site,  modest  taste  had  prevailed  in  the  choice  of  a  dress, 
and  as  she  entered  the  great  state  parlor  where  the  cere 
mony  was  to  be  "performed,  and  where  the  guests,  and,  in 
the  background,  the  servants  were  assembled,  everybody 
grew  enthusiastic  in  admiration.  She  was  leaning  on  the 


210  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

arm  of  Ordotte,  and  even  his  tawny  face  was  somewhat 
flushed  as  if  with  pride  and  delight.  Carnew,  to  many 
an  envious  heart  in  the  assembly,  never  appeared  so  hand 
some.  Happiness  had  given  to  his  cheeks  a  rich  flush, 
and  to  his  earnest,  dark  eyes  an  exquisite  sparkle. 

The  brief  ceremony  was  over,  and  Ned  was  an  Edgar 
no  longer,  but  Mrs.  Carnew,  wife  of  the  richest  and  hand 
somest  man  in  C —  — .  But  of  those  advantages  she 
never  thought ;  he  was  her  love,  tender  and  true,  and  in 
that  she  rested,  and  had  her  treasure  and  her  joy.  The 
pleasant  wedding  breakfast  also  was  over  quickly,  and 
then  nothing  remained  but  for  the  bride  to  put  on  her 
travelling  dress,  and  speed  away  with  her  husband  from 
Rahandabed.  Mrs.  Doloran  hugged  her  very  tight,  and 
kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  then  she  hugged  Alan, 
and  kissed  him,  and  after  that  she  turned  to  Ordotte,  and 
in  her  excitement  seemed  about  to  subject  him  to  the 
same  ordeal,  only  he,  divining  her  intention,  slipped  out 
of  her  reach. 

Macgilivray,  honest,  delighted  Macgilivray,  drove  them 
to  the  station,  and  as  he  afterward  expressed  to  his  fellow- 
help  : 

'  A  bonnier  bride  ne'er  steppit." 

Never  having  travelled,  beyond  her  journey  when  a 
child  to  the  Pennsylvania  School,  thence  to  Barry  town, 
and  afterward  to  Albany,  the  journey  was  a  constant 
source  of  delight  to  Ned,  and  to  Carnew,  who  had  tra 
velled  so  much  both  in  the  old  world  and  in  the  new,  her 
simple,  unaffected  enthusiasm  was  most  refreshing.  He 
loved  to  watch  her  silently,  as,  with,  the  glimpses  that  she 
caught  of  the  pretty  places  along  the  river,  the  color  rose 
in  her  cheeks,  and  the  sparkle  came  to  her  eyes.  She 
was  hardly  wearied  when  they  reached  New  York,  and 
the  thought  of  seeing  Dyke  seemed  to  imbue  her  with, 
fresh  spirits. 

"  I  tliink,  Ned,"  said  Carnew  the  next  morning,  after  an 
elegantly  appointed  breakfast  in  their  own  apartment  in 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

the  Astor  House — at  that  time  one  of  the  leading  hotels 
in  the  city — "  that  we  shall  call  on  Mr.  Dutton.  I  am 
afraid  your  impatience  would  never  brook  the  delay  of 
sending  to  him  to  call  upon  us.  So  if  you  like,  we  shall 
go  immediately." 

"  Shall  we  ? "  her  wide  eyes  alight  with  pleasure.  "  How 
very  thoughtful  and  good  you  are,  Alan  !  " 

"  Am  I? "  He  was  standing  near  her,  and  he  could 
not  resist  the  impulse  to  draw  her  to  him  and  fold  her  in 
his  arms. 

"  My  own,"  he  murmured.  Was  it  the  spirit  of  proph 
esy  which  occasionally,  all  unconscious  to  ourselves,  comes 
upon  us,  that  impelled  her  to  say  almost  as  if  another  and 
not  she  were  speaking : 

"  Will  the  day  ever  come,  Alan,  that  you  will  not  find 
it  in  your  heart  to  call  me  that  ? " 

And  he  answered  lirmly  ;  clasping  her  closely  : 

"Never!" 

Neither  dreamed  of  the  black,  cruel,  horrid  phantom 
which  was  so  soon  to  separate  them. 

Dyke,  in  the  private  office  of  his  business  house,  in 
consultation  with  the  senior  partner,  was  told  some  one 
wished  to  see  him. 

"  Let  the  party  come  in  here,"  said  the  senior  partner, 
and  he  retired  to  a  desk  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnew  appeared.  It  was  Ned's  plan  to 
send  in  no  cards,  in  order  to  surprise  Dyke,  and  never 
was  a  surprise  more  effectual.  Though  knowing  that  their 
wedding  trip  was  to  include  New  York,  he  never  dreamed 
of  their  visiting  him,  and  now  as  lie  looked  at  the  lovely, 
blushing,  smiling  bride,  it  seemed  to  be  all  a  dream.  But 
she  did  not  leave  him  in  dreamland  long.  Forgetful  of 
everything  but  that  the  honest  fellow  whom  she  loved 
with  all  a  tender  sister's  warm  affection  stood  before  her, 
she  rushed  to  him,  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed 
him  heartily.  Even  the  senior  partner  could  not  help 
looking  up,  and  wondering,  and  almost  envying  Dyke,  for 
Ned  was  so  lovely. 


212  A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Dyke  was  crimson  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  down 
to  his  shirt  collar  with  surprise,  delight,  and  a  host  of 
emotions.  Something  even  like  moisture  came  into  his 
eyes,  but  he  managed  to  conceal  that  and  to  avert  a  re 
currence  of  it. 

Ned  drew  him  to  Carnew,  introducing  : 

"  My  husband  ! " 

with  a  naivete  and  pride  that  was  charming,  and  Dyke 
wrung  Alan's  hand  and  congratulated  him  in  a  voice  that 
to  himself  was  unexpectedly  steady.  It  was  no  use  for 
him  to  beg  to  be  excused  from  giving  the  day  to  the 
couple,  for  the  senior  partner,  from  his  corner,  overhear 
ing  some  of  Mrs.  Carnew's  entreaties,  came  forward,  apol 
ogizing  for  his  intrusion,  but  saying  that,  having  heard  the 
young  lady's  solicitations,  he  could  no  longer  refrain  from 
adding  his  request  to  hers  that  Mr.  Dutton  would  take 
the  day.  Then  followed  introductions  to  the  gentleman, 
and  Dyke  finally  was  induced  to  go  out  with  his  friends. 

What  a  happy  day  it  was  !  In  the  brotherly  attention 
which  Carnew  paid  him  and  the  sisterly  affection  of  which 
each  moment  he  was  the  recipient  from  Ned,  Dyke  felt 
the  pain  in  his  heart  lulled,  and  when  he  saw  how  truly 
happy  was  Ned,  he  rejoiced  for  her  sake.  With  himself, 
all  his  agony  should  not  weigh  a  feather  against  her  joy. 

Then  lie  had  some  news  for  her.  The  relatives  with 
whom  Meg  lived  in  Albany  were  all  going  to  Australia — 
promises  of  most  lucrative  employment  being  tendered  to 
them  by  friends  already  in  that  distant  country.  They 
were  going  in  June,  and  by  that  time  Meg  would  be  able 
to  travel,  the  doctor  said,  and  Dyke  intended  to  bring  her 
to  the  little  mountain  home,  at  least  for  the  summer. 
Meg  was  longing  for  it,  and  he  himself  was  anxious  to 
ppend  a  few  weeks  there.  The  senior  partner  had  told 
him  that  he  could  be  spared  at  that  season  of  the  year 
for  two  months  if  necessary. 

"Delightful  !"  said  Ned;  "and  Alan  and  I  shall  visit 
you  there.  I  want  him  to  see  the  mountain  home  of 
my  childhood," 


A    FATAL    EESEMBLANOE.  213 

Dyke  blushed  a  little. 

"  1  don't  know  about  the  propriety  of  your  making  a 
visit  there  now.  Meg  has  dissuaded  me  from  my  desire 
to  make  some  improvements  in  the  little  place.  She  says 
it  would  lose  its  charm  for  her  if  it  were  altered,  and 
that,  as  she  is  so  old  and  scarcely  expects  to  live  a  great 
while  longer,  it  will  not  be  much  for  me  to  defer  my 
plan." 

"And  she  is  right,  dear  old  Meg,"  responded  Ned, 
tears  showing  for  a  moment  in  her  eyes.  "  I  am  glad 
she  requested  that.  For  me,  too,  it  would  lose  its  charm 
if  you  had  it  altered. 

"  But  don't  you  see,"  said  Dyke,  "  how  little  and  how    >T  ^ 
poor  the  accommodation  is  for  you  if  you  should  visit  it. 
The  married  lady,  Mrs.  Carnew,  will  hardly,  I  think,  be 
content    with   what   amply   suited   the  little   girl,   Ned 
Edgar." 

And  Dyke  smiled. 

"Mrs.  Carnew  will  be  just  as  amply  suited,"  mimicked 
Ned,  "  and  as  for  Mr.  Carnew,  he  has  become  so  plebeian 
since  he  married  poor  little  Ned  Edgar,  that  I  believe  he 
could  accommodate  himself  to  a  mud  hut." 

At  which  they  all  laughed,  but  immediately  afterward 
it  was  settled  that  some  time  in  the  ensuing  summer  the 
young  couple  would  visit  Ned's  mountain  home. 

That  day  ended,  as  all  happy  days  do,  far  too  quickly, 
and  Alan  and  Ned  continued  their  bridal  trip. 

XL. 

The  happy  couple  were  back  in  Tiahandabed,  Ned  flit 
ting  about  in  her  handsome  suite  of  apartments  with  the 
delight  of  a  bird,  and  Alan  settling  down  to  the  life  lie 
loved,  of  his  wife,  his  books,  and  his  long  romantic  rides 
about  the  country.  Mrs.  Doloran  was  most  unusually 
amiable  ;  some  of  the  guests  said  that  it  was  because  she 
had  proposed  to  Ordotte,  and  that  he  had  accepted  her. 
Whether  such  was  the  case,  Ordotte  was,  if  possible,  more 


214:  A   FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 

attentive  to  her,  and  slie  had  become  so  much  like  ordi 
nary  women  that  she  was  now  without  a  "  companion," 
having  dismissed  two  who  had  succeeded  Ned,  and  fur 
ther  declared  she  intended  to  continue  without  one  ;  more 
than  that,  for  a  whole  month  she  had  not  once  broken 
into  a  violent  temper,  so  that  Macgilvray  said: 

"  The  auld  hornie  must  have  heavy  work  elsewhere, 
when  he  forgets  me  leddy  so  long." 

The  month  of  July  came,  and  Dyke  wrote  that  Meg 
and  he  were  in  the  little  mountain  home.  He  had  gone 
to  Albany  for  her,  made  a  stay  of  a  few  days  while  his 
relatives  were  preparing  for  departure  to  Australia,  and 
now  he  was  trying  to  live  over  again  the  old- happy  times 
when  Ned  was  like  a  little  sprite  of  the  mountains.  It 
was  his  usual  letter,  bright,  tender,  cheerful,  even  in  some 
sense  amusing,  for  he  had  the  faculty  of  telling  common 
place  incidents  in  a  humorous  way.  Ned  was  so  glad  to 
receive  it,  and  so  sorry  that  it  came  just  as  Alan  had  set 
off  on  one  of  his  long  solitary  rides,  from  which  he  would 
not  return  until  evening.  She  was  eager  to  show  it  to 
him,  for  he  had  only  waited  some  such  news,  to  prepare  to 
accompany  her  on  a  visit  to  the  home  of  her  childhood. 
But  she  curbed  her  impatience,  and  flitted  about  the 
numberless  little  pretty  things  a  woman  of  leisure  finds  to 
do,  until  it  was  time  to  go  to  her  music.  Alan  wished 
her  to  cultivate  that,  and  his  slightest  desire  was  her  law. 
She  had  scarcely  seated  herself  at  the  instrument,  when  a 
servant  summoned  her  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  private  parlor. 

Wondering  a  little,  for  such  a  summons  was  most  un 
usual  since  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  "hired  companion," 
r:."!  10  left  the  piano,  continuing  to  hum  the  air  she  had  just 
b  jgun  to  play.  She  was  so  happy,  that  there  was  a  strange 
f  jcling  of  wanting  almost  to  hug  the  sunshine  as  it 
straggled  through  the  half-closed  blinds  of  the  veranda 
y/hicli  she  passed  on  her  way  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  apart 
ments.  There  was  no  shade,  no  presentiment  of  how  she 
would  leave  that  lady's  presence. 

When  Ned  entered  the  parlor,  there  were  more  persons 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  215 

in  it  than  the  mistress  of  Rahandabed.  There  was  a 
middle-aged  woman,  evidently  of  the  lower  class,  with  a 
little,  plainly  dressed,  sleeping  girl  about  a  year  old  in  her 
arms,  and  beside  her  was  a  young,  and  well-dressed  man. 
Though,  not  good-looking,  he  would  attract  attention  from 
his  set,  determined  features.  They  were  all  seated  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Doloran  was  beside  them, 
sitting  bolt  upright,  a  position  she  assumed  only  when  she 
was  excited,  or  angry. 

Utterly  unsuspicious  of  what  awaited  her,  Ned  came 
smilingly  forward,  but  the  smile  froze  upon  her  lips,  when 
Mrs.  Doloran,  without  moving  a  muscle  of*  her  rigid  face, 
or  inclining  in  the  least,  her  stiff,  erect  form,  pointed  to 
the  babe  in  the  woman's  arms,  and  said  loudly  and  sternlv  : 
"Mrs.  Carnew,  this  child  is  said  to  be  yours  ;  your  child 
by  a  private  marriage  with  Richard  Mackay,  who  com 
mitted  suicide  some  months  ago  upon  these  grounds." 

Ned  was  bewildered  ;  the  accusation  was  so  sudden  and 
so  outrageous,  that  the  very  emotions  it  called  up  as  she 
recovered  her  voice,  made  lier  appear  almost  guilty. 

"  Such  a  charge,  Mrs.  Doloran,  is  too  absurd  even  to  be 
answered  ;  if  such  be  the  purpose  for  which  I  have  been 
summoned,  I  must  retire  immediately." 

And  she  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Not  so  fast,"  said  Mrs.  Doloran  rising,  and  hastening 
to  interpose  her  form  between  Ned  and  the  door,  "  this  is 
something  more  than  an  absurd  charge,  as  you  will  learn 
before  long.  These  people  are  armed  with  the  most  con 
clusive  proofs  of  your  guilt,  and,  to  leave  no  link  wanting, 
the  minister  who  married  you  to  Mr.  Mackay,  is  to  arrive 
here  to  day.  I  used  to  suspect  that  you  were  a  sort  of 
actress,  Ned,  but  I  never  dreamed  that  you  could  have 
gone  to  the  length  of  discarding  your  own  child." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  spoke  up  the  woman  with  an  unpleasant 
boldness  of  voice,  "  this  is  the  lady's  child.  She  was  con 
fined  in  my  house  a  year  ago  this  month,  and  I'd  have 
always  kept  the  little  thing,  for  I'd  grown  to  love  it,  but 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Mr.  Dickson,  here,  who  was  the  bosom  friend,  it  seems,  of 
Mr.  Mackay,  come  to  me,  and  he  says,  says  he  : 

"  l  It  would  be  an  injustice  to  the  child,  not  to  reveal  its 
parentage,  especially  as  its  mother  was  a  lady,  and  had 
made  such  a  wealthy  match,  and — 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  burst  from  Ned,  no  longer  able  to 
control  herself,  "how  dare  you  tell  such  an  atrocious  lie  ? 
I  never  saw  you  before  in  my  life." 

"  These  heroics  are  very  fine,"  said  Mrs.  Doloran,  who, 
having  heard  the  story  of  the  strangers,  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  believe  it.  Anything  that  promised  a  sensation, 
even  though  it  cruelly  sacrificed  some  one,  was  hailed  by 
her,  and  friendships  for  her  own  sex  were  too  weak  and 
fleeting  to  be  permitted  to  stand  in  the  way  of  an  event 
that  promised  excitement,  or  novelty. 

"  I  repeat  it,"  she  continued  with  an  aggravating  sar 
casm,  as  she  saw  Ned  trembling  from  indignation,  "these 
heroics  are  very  fine,  but  they  carry  no  proof  of  your 
innocence.  "Why,  this  young  man  lias  in  his  possession 
letters  of  that  unfortunate  Mackay  to  him,  in  which  you, 
Ned  Edgar,  are  constantly  mentioned,  as  the  object  of  his 
love,  and  afterwards  as  his  wife  !  " 

"  It  is  true,  Mrs.  Carnew,"  said  the  young  man  rising, 
but  preserving  a  most  respectful  bearing,  "I  first  met 
Dick  Mackay  abroad,  and  we  formed  so  great  a  friend 
ship  for  each  other  that  he  made  me  his  confidant,  when 
he  became  acquainted  with  you.  He  wrote  to  me  fre 
quently  about  you,  and  even  sent  to  me  a  letter  just  before 
his  death,  telling  me  that  he  contemplated  suicide,  because 
though  his  wife,  you  did  not  return  his  love,  but  preferred 
to  him  a  Mr.  Carnew,  and  asking  me  to  see  to  his  child, 
for  you,  its  mother,  had  discarded  it.  I  could  not  get 
away  from  London  where  I  then  resided,  but  as  soon  us 
opportunity  offered,  I  did  so,  and  I  hastened  to  this  woman, 
who  informed  me  that  for  ten  months  she  had  received  no 
compensation  for  her  care  of  the  child,  nor  had  any  one 
called  to  see  it. 

"  I  confess,  Mrs.  Carnew,  that  I  was  indignant,  not  at 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  217 

the  father,  who,  because  of  his  long  silence,  I  feared 
had  carried  out  his  threat  of  death,  but  at  the  mother.  I 
made  it  my  business  to  come  here  and  make  secret  in 
quiries.  I  found  that  poor  Mackay  had  indeed  committed 
suicide,  and  on  these  very  grounds,  and  that  his  wife  had 
unfeelingly  married  not  a  year  after  the  event.  That  nerved 
me  anew.  I  returned  to  this  woman's  house,  and  brought 
her  and  the  babe  back  with  me  in  order  that  the  dead 
might  be  in  some  measure  avenged,  and  that  justice  might 
be  done  to  the  innocent  offspring. 

"  I  have  also  written  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hayman  of 
Rhinebeck,  who  Mackay  told  me  performed  the  cere 
mony,  and  he  promised  to  meet  me  here  to-day." 

He  had  spoken  very  calmly  but  very  firmly,  and  Ned 
had  listened  with  a  sort  of  strange  curiosity  mingled  with 
her  indignation.  Before  he  had  finished  she  understood 
it  all.  It  was  Edna's  story  lie  was  telling,  Edna  who  had 
confided  in  Xed  to  the  extent  of  revealing  her  secret  mar 
riage,  but  who  had  forborne  to  tell  of  the  existence  of  her 
child,  and  she  answered  with  what  calmness  she  could  as 
sume  : 

"  You  are  entirely  mistaken  in  supposing  me  to  be  the 
wrife  of  Mackay,  or  the  mother  of  that  babe.  I  am  nei 
ther,  and  I  shall  not  longer  remain  to  be  insulted  by  such 
an  accusation.  If  you,  Mrs.  Doloran,  will  not  protect  me 
from  it,  my  husband  will,  when  he  returns.  "  And  with 
out  even  a  second  glance  at  the  parties,  she  went  from  the 
room. 

But,  in  her  own  apartment,  when  she  sat  down  to  think 
calmly  of  what  had  occurred,  there  came  to  her  for  the 
first  time  since  she  had  been  so  dreadfully  accused,  the 
remembrance  of  her  oath  to  Edna.  A  sudden  pain  shot 
through  her  temples,  and  she  could  almost  feel  the  blood 
receding  from  her  face.  Then,  also,  came  before  her  the 
note  delivered  to  her  on  the  lawn,  and  addressed  to  Ned 
Edgar;  through  her  own  forgetf illness  to  demand  it,  she 
had  never  received  any  explanation  of  why  her  diminu 
tive  had  been  used. 


218  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Had  Edna,  fearing  some  such  exposure  as  this,  deliber 
ately  planned  to  have  her  swear  ?  Was  that  a  part  also, 
of  Edna's  malicious  deception,  in  order  to  save  herself  ? 
The  room  swam  about  her  with  the  thought,  and  for  a 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  going  round  with  it. 
Though  seated,  she  clutched  the  sides  of  her  chair  to  save 
herself  from  falling.  If  only  Alan  would  come  !  But  if 
he  were  there,  she  could  not  tell  him  what  she  knew— 
she  could  only  deny  the  accusation  ;  but  he,  knowing  and 
loving  her  as  he  did,  would  not  for  a  moment  credit  the 
charge.  There  was  comfort  in  that  thought.  But  how 
should  she  prove  her  innocence  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  who  evi 
dently  had  given  entire  ear  to  the  wretched  story  ?  And 
then  she  remembered  what  had  been  said  about  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Hay  man  coming  that  very  day  to  Rahandabed.  He 
would  disprove  the  charge  instantly,  for  she  had  never 
seen  the  gentleman. 

Oh  !  for  the  day  to  pass,  that  Alan  might  come  !  And 
she  spent  the  hours,  never  leaving  her  own  apartments, 
in  a  restless,  wretched  manner.  The  fact  that  she  so 
secluded  herself  was  construed  by  Mrs.  Doloran  into  a 
fresh  proof  of  her  guilt,  and  she  appealed  to  Ordotte  to 
second  her  opinion ;  but  lie  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  Mrs.  Carnew  should  be  granted  at  least  the  justice  of 
being  supposed  innocent  until  fully  proved  to  be  guilty, 
upon  which  the  lady  looked  angry,  and  said  that  Ordotte 
was  entirely  too  partial  to  Mrs.  Carnew. 

Mr.  Diekson  and  his  companions  were  made  especial 
proteges  of  Mrs.  Doloran.  One  would  think  they  had 
brought  her  news  of  some  treasure,  so  grateful,  so  kind, 
and  so  considerate  of  their  comfort  was  she.  She  insisted 
that  Rahandabed  must  be  their  home  until  the  dreadful 
thing  was  settled  ;  and  she  lent  a  greedy  ear  to  all  the  con 
versation  of  Mrs.  Bunmer,  the  woman  who  accompanied 
Mr.  Dickson.  He  was  evidently  sincere  and  earnest  in 
his  undertaking,  actuated  by  the  motives  that  he  had 
mentioned  :  love  for  his  dead  friend,  and  a  desire  to  see  jus 
tice  done  to  the  neglected  offspring ;  but  the  woman 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  219 

evinced  a  disgusting  garrulity — a  readiness  to  tell,  even  to 
the  very  servants  with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  all 
about  Mrs.  Carnew's  neglect  of  her  own  child.  So  the 
dreadful  story  was  known  in  all  Eahandabed  before  Car- 
new  returned,  and  it  was  believed  (by  some  of  those  who 
had  envied  Ned,  gladly  believed)  by  all  except  two  per 
sons,  Ordotte  and  Macgilivray.  The  latter,  in  his  dry, 
honest  Scotch  way,  scouted  it  at  once,  and  had  a  war  of 
words  with  more  than  one  of  his  fellow-help  about  it. 

Alan  returned,  but  a  watch  had  been  kept  for  him,  and 
before  he  could  get  to  his  wife,  he  was  summoned  to  meet 
Dickson.  Mrs.  Doloran  had  a  vein  of  shrewdness  in  her 
nature.  With  the  tact  of  her  sex,  she  divined  that  it  was 
better  to  let  Carnew  and  Dickson  have  an  uninterrupted 
private  interview  before  she  introduced  the  woman,  Bun- 
rner.  Dickson 's  quiet,  gentlemanly,  earnest  manner 
would  carry  surer  and  quicker  conviction  to  her  nephew 
than  to  meet  him  first  with  the  story  of  the  garrulous,  un 
prepossessing  female.  And  she  was  right.  After  Car- 
new  had  recovered  from  the  first  sort  of  dazed  shock  that 
Dicksoii's  story  gave  him,  he  actually  found  himself  with 
a  forced  calmness,  reading  carefully  every  one  of  the  let 
ters  which  the  gentleman  produced. 

There  were  nearly  a  dozen  of  them,  none  of  them  very 
long, 'but  all  well  written,  both  as  to  composition  and  pen 
manship,  and  tilled  with  accounts  of  the  writer's  affection 
for  Ned  Edgar.  She  was  never  spoken  of  as  Edna,  and 
was  even  referred  to  as,  not  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Edgar, 
but  as  one  whom  his  bounty  supported,  and  whom  lie 
loved  as  an  adopted  child.  He  came  to  the  last  letter, 
the  letter  which  announced  his  contemplation  of  suicide  ; 
that  ran : 

"  Do  not  censure  me,  friend  of  my  soul,  for  doing  that 
which  wiser  and  better  men  in  harrowing  circumstances 
have  done  before  me.  I  can  endure  my  life  no  longer. 
Ned  will  never  acknowledge  our  secret  marriage ;  she  will 
never  consent  to  be  known  as  the  wife  of  a  gardener's  son. 
She  is  here  in  a  place  called  Rahandabed.;  hired  conrpan- 


220  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

ion  to  a  wealthy  lady,  who  has  a  handsome  and  wealthy 
nephew.  She  says  she  was  there  all  the  time  I  supposed 
her  to  be  in  Weewald  Place,  and  during  which  time  1 
was  endeavoring  to  earn  a  living  in  New  York,  and,  in 
accordance  with  her  request,  had  refrained  from  writing 
to  her.  That  she  obtained  permission  to  go  to  New 
York,  where  our  child  was  born,  and  then  that  she  re 
turned  here.  I  followed  her  in  secret,  and  by  hiding 
myself  upon  the  grounds,  I  managed  to  see  her. 

"  You  wonder  why  I  so  deferred,  to  her  ;  why  I  did  not 
assert  my  rights  and  remove  her  from  temptation.  O 
my  friend,  if  you  have  ever  loved  as  I  have  done,  you 
will  understand,  and  pity,  and  forgive  me.  I  loved  Ned 
so  madly  that  I  could  not  lift  my  linger  against  the  light 
est  wish  of  hers ;  and  further,  what  means  have  I  to  sup 
port  her — what  kind  of  a  home  could  I  provide  for  her 
compared  to  the  one  she  has  now  ?  I  saw  her,  as  I  told 
you,  and  I  suppose  in  my  desperation  I  spoke  wildly. 
I  accused  her  of  being  willing  to  violate  every  law,  of 
being  ready  to  accept  the  attentions  of  this  handsome, 
wealthy  Carnew.  She  looked,  grave  at  that,  and  an 
swered  that  Mr.  Carnew  too  rarely  noticed  her  for  me 
to  have  any  jealousy.  O  Walter,  how  I  loved  her  ;  I 
felt,  as  I  looked  at  her,  as  we  both  stood  in  the  shadow 
of  an  old  deserted  mill,  witli  the  darkness  of  the  evening- 
closing  about  us,  that  I  could  make  any  sacrifice,  after 
all,  for  her  happiness. 

"  We  were  startled  by  the  sound  of  approaching  steps, 
and  she  fled  to  Ilahandabed,  while  I  hurried  in  an  op 
posite  direction. 

"  That  night  my  resolution  was  made.  She  had  said 
to  me  that  no  love  was  great  which  would  not  make  every 
sacrifice.  I  would  never  be  in  circumstances  to  rescue 
her  from  the  life  of  a  dependent,  and  my  existence  would 
be  a  bar  to  her  marriage  to  a  better  man.  So  I  would 
make  for  her  the  greatest  sacrifice  it  was  in  my  power  to 
make.  I  would  end  my  life.  I  know  not  if  she  will 
see  to  our  child ;  I  sometimes  think  that  she  has  as  little 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE  221 

love  for  it  as  she  has  for  me  ;  but,  in  any  case,  Walter, 
you  will  see  to  it.  You  have  means,  and  you,  I  feel,  will 
do  your  poor  dead  friend  this  service. 

"  P.  S.  They  are  having  some  sort  of  a  fete  in  the 
grounds  of  Rahandabed,  and  I  have  dispatched  a  laborer, 
whom  I  have  found  on  the  road,  with  a  note  to  ( Miss  Ned 
Edgar.'  He  is  to  inquire  for  her  among  the  gay  com 
pany  which,  from  my  hiding-place,  I  can  see  assembled 
upon  the  grounds,  but  he  is  not  to  wait  for  an  answer.  I 
wonder,  when  she  reads:  ' Within  an  hour  the  last  and 
greatest  sacrifice  I  can  make  shall  be  completed.  Can 
any  love  demand  more  ? '  if  she  will  guess  what  it  is ;  if 
she  will  shudder,  if  she  will  pity,  if  she  will  love  me. 
And  to-morrow,  when  they  find  my  body  cold  and  stark, 
will  any  thrill  of  compassion  run  through  her  frame,  will 
any  of  her  old  regard  for  me  come  back?  But  what  is 
the  odds  ?  I  shall  only  have  died  for  a  woman's  sake  ! 

"  Good-by,  Walter,  old  friend.  Would  that  my  heart 
held  only  its  love  for  you. 

"  Yours,  in  death, 

"RICHARD  MACEAY." 

Carnew  looked  up,  and  across  at  his  companion  with 
eyes  that  fairly  blazed,  and  a  face  so  pale  and  rigid,  that 
Dickson  shrank  from  it.  As  the  whole  life  of  a  person 
drowning  is  said  to  pass  in  instantaneous,  but  most  dis 
tinct  view,  before  the  eyes  that  are  closing  forever,  so  every 
iota  concerning  Ned  seemed  to  come  instantaneously  be 
fore  Carnew.  The  note  that  so  strangely  had  been  given 
to  her  on  the  afternoon  of  Mr.  Edgar's  arrival  at  Ralian- 
dabed,  and  which  evidently  wTas  the  note  referred  to  in. 
Mackay's  letter.  Her  two  months'  absence  a  year  ago, 
during  which  she  said  she  had  been  ill,  and  her  sick  ap 
pearance  on  her  return  fully  corroborating  her  statement, 
but,  O  God!  how  all  these  facts  substantiated  the 
wretched  charge  against  her.  All  that  Edna  had  told 
him  regarding  Ned  and  Mackay  rushed  to  him ;  Ned's 
appearance  and  evident  illness  just  after  the  identity  of 


222  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

the  suicide  had  been  proclaimed,  all  his  old  doubts  and 
thoughts  about  her,  even  her  very  remark  in  the  hotel  in 
New  York,  *  would  the  day  ever  come,  in  which  he  wrould 
find  it  in  his  heart  not  to  call  her  his  own,'  all  came  to 
him  with  a  tantalizing  minuteness  that  seemed  fairly 
devilish.  He  rose,  saying  with  a  voice  that  had  under 
gone  as  great  a  change  as  his  face  had  done : 

"  I  shall  take  these  letters  for  the  present." 

Dickson  did  not  object,  and  Carnew  went  out  of  the 
room,  without  expressing  any  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Bunmer. 
But  he  was  met  by  his  aunt. 

"  How  has  Mr.  Dickson' s  account  affected  you  ? "  she 
asked  coldly,  her  eyes  fairly  glittering. 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  only  pushed  by  her  as  if 
he  had  not  heard  her  question.  But  she  opposed  his 
further  progress. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  see  this  woman,  Bunmer? 
And  Mr.  Hayman  has  arrived ;  he  is  waiting  in  the  par 
lor  for  you." 

Mrs.  Doloran  was  in  her  most  enjoyable  element ;  not 
that,  really  from  a  spirit  of  viciousness,  she  wished  to  see 
Ned.  unhappy  and  disgraced,  but  because  with  childish 
credulousness,  and  that  fickle  disposition  that  formed  such 
prominent  traits  in  her  shallow  nature,  she  believed  Ned 
to  be  fully  guilty,  and  she  disliked  and  despised  her  ac 
cordingly.  She  would  show  her  as  little  mercy  as  she 
had  shown  the  French  girl.  And,  with  characteristic 
selfishness,  no  thought  of  her  nephew  moved  her  to  pity. 
Did  he  suffer,  it  would  only  be  a  little  variety  in  his  life, 
and  something  which  he  merited  for  having,  against  her 
wishes,  married  only  a  "  companion."  So  there  was  no 
sympathy  in  her  face  and  certainly  none  in  her  voice. 

Alan  put  her  aside  again,  and  said  in  the  same  changed 
tones  which  he  had  used  to  Dickson  : 

"  I  am  going. to  Ned." 

Impatient,  restless,  fevered  Ned  !  She  had  heard  that 
Alan  had  returned.  Her  own  maid  had  informed  her, 
having  heard  it,  when  she  went  to  tea,  from  the  gossip- 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  82t5 

loving,  watchful  servants  who  knew  tliat  Mr.  Carnew' s  re 
turn  was  looked  for  with  great  eagerness  by  Mrs.  Doloran. 
And  Ned  wondered  why  he  did  not,  according  to  his 
wont,  come  immediately  to  her.  She  never  dreamed  that 
he  would  see  any  of  the  strangers  first ;  and,  as  for  the 
tenth  time  she  opened  the  door  of  her  parlor  to  listen  for 
his  step  along  the  corridor,  her  maid,  who  seemed  to  di 
vine  the  cause  of  the  anxiety,  said  respectfully : 

"  I  heard  one  of  the  help  say  at  the  tea-table,  that  Mr. 
Carnew  was  talking  to  Mr.  Dickson  ;  that  they  were  talk 
ing  together  a  long  time." 

"  You  may  go  to  your  own  room,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
new  coldly.  "  I  shall  ring  when  I  want  you." 

So  the  wretched  story  had  become  servants'  talk,  since 
they  knew  the  name  of  the  strange  gentleman,  and  that 
he  was  closeted  with  Carnew,  and  instead  of  coming  to 
her,  her  husband  had  chosen  to  listen  to  the  stranger's 
accusation.  Pale  before,  she  became  deathly  then,  and 
her  head  throbbed  as  if  it  would  burst ;  but  at  that  mo 
ment  Alan's  step  sounded  in  the  corridor,  and  in  another 
instant  he  was  standing  before  her.  She  saw  his  face, 
and  it  struck  a  sort  of  terror  to  her  heart ;  but  she  ex 
tended  her  arms  to  him,  and  she  cried  with  an  agonized 
entreaty : 

"  O  Alan  !  my  husband  !  " 

He  did  riot  move ;  he  did  not  even  lift  a  finger  to  re 
spond  t)  her  motion.  He  only  looked  as  if  he  were 
frozen  into  that  erect  position,  and  as  if  his  eyes  were  two 
burning  orbs,  looking  over  a  blank  of  ice  beneath  them. 
Still  she  kept  her  arms  extended,  and  she  moved  towards 
him,  for  it  could  not  be  that  he,  her  husband,  doubted 
her ;  but  when  she  was  so  close  that  she  might  have 
thrown  her  grasp  about  him,  as  if  she,  too,  had  become 
suddenly  frozen  by  the  icy  spell  which  seemed  to  bind 
him,  her  hands  dropped  to  her  sides,  and  she  tottered 
back.  He  appeared  to  recover  some  volition  then  ;  for 
he  approached  her,  and  in  that  same  altered  voice,  which 


224  A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

seemed  too  much  altered  ever  to  give  place  to  his  own 
again,  he  said : 

"Ned!" 

At  the  sound  of  her  name  pronounced  in  that  manner, 
a  manner  which  was  further  horrible  proof  that  her  hus 
band  believed  the  wretched  story,  something  of  her  old 
spirit  came  back;  the  old,  sudden,  flaring  temper  that  had 
been  wont  to  bring  such  trouble  upon  her  childhood. 
She  drew  herself  up,  and  while  the  color  rushed  into  her 
cheeks,  and  even  reddened  her  brow  and  neck,  she  an 
swered  : 

"  What  would  you  say  to  me,  if,  during  your  absence, 
I  listened  to,  and  believed   some   miserable   accusation 
against  you  f    If  I  gave  the  traducers  full  ear,  before  even- 
I  asked  one  question  of  you  ?     And  this  is  what  you  have 
done  to  me,  your  wife  !  " 

How  beautiful  and  noble  she  looked  as  she  stood  gaz 
ing  into  his  very  eyes  fearlessly  and  frankly,  and  how 
marked  was  her  resemblance  to  Edna.  To  Carnew  it  had 
never  seemed  so  great  before.  And  how  confirmatory  of 
her  innocence  was  her  appearance.  Guilt  could  never 
wear  the  expression  that  her  face  wore  unless,  indeed, 
she  was  a  consummate  actress. 

He  did  not  speak  again,  but  led  her  by  the  arm  to  an 
inner  room,  then,  placing  a  chair  for  her  beside  a  little 
centre-table,  he  opened  the  bundle  of  Mackay 's  letters ; 
one  by  one,  beginning  in  order  with  them  according  to 
their  dates,  he  opened  them  and  placed  them  before  her, 
and  bade  her  read.  She  obeyed,  growing  like  one  in  a 
ghastly  nightmare  as  she  proceeded,  and  he,  sitting  oppo 
site,  watched  the  varying  expressions  of  her  face. 

Had  Edna  deliberately  palmed  herself  upon  Mackay  as 
Ned,  and  as  the  latter  remembered  the  life  at  Weewald 
Place,  she  felt  that  it  would  not  have  been  a  difficult  mat 
ter.  None  of  the  Mackay  family  had  sufficient  inter 
course  with  any  one  in  Mr.  Edgar's  house  to  ascertain  the 
truth.  Edna  could  easily,  for  purposes  of  her  own,  have 
pretended  to  her  lover  that  she  was  riot  tho  Edna  Edgar 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  225 

who  was  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,  and  the  heiress  of  Wee- 
wald  Place.  With  equal  ease  she  could  have  gone  further, 
as  she  evidently  had  done,  and  deceived  her  lover  to  the 
extent  of  making  him  believe  that  it  was  she  who  had 
gone  to  Rahandabed  to  earn  her  living ;  but  for  what 
purpose  had  Miss  Edgar  told  so  many  malicious  lies  ?  If 
to  conceal  her  own  imprudent  love,  surely  there  were 
other  ways  and  means  than  laying  her  guilt  upon  Ned's 
shoulders.  When  she  came  to  the  last  letter,  the  letter 
that  spoke  of  the  note  that  had  been  delivered  to  Miss 
Ned  Edgar  on  the  grounds  of  Rahandabed,  and  of  which 
she  had  first  forgotten,  and  then  neglected  to  demand  any 
explanation,  Ned  gave  a  cry — a  cry  forced  from  her  by 
the  remembrance  of  that  note  which  had  been  intended 
for  Edna  but  given  to  her.  She  pushed  the  letters  from 
her  and  rose  to  her  feet.  In  that  moment  as  she  looked 
down  at  the  mass  of  cruel  lies,  and  then,  as  she  looked 
across  at  the  white,  rigid  face  with  its  eyes  burning  into 
her  own,  for  the  first  time  in  her  whole  life  tha.t  she  ever 
hated  anybody,  she  hated  Edna  ;  and  yet  her  oath  bound 
her  from  saying  a  word  of  the  truth,  and  Edna  was  be 
yond  reach  of  any  entreaty  to  undo  the  terrible  wrong. 
With  these  feelings  struggling  in  her  bosom,  she  crossed 
to  her  husband ;  she  took  his  cold  hands  in  hers,  she 
knelt  at  his  feet,  and  looking  up  into  his  eyes,  said  in 
tones  that,  from  their  earnestness  and  their  agony,  seemed 
to  be  irresistibly  convincing : 

"  Alan,  as  God  is  in  heaven,  I  am  innocent  of  this  hor 
rible  charge.  Richard  Mackay  wras  never  my  lever,  never 
my  husband.  Oh !  that  I  should  even  have  to  deny  such 
as  this  to  you.  I  thought  your  love  was  such  that  no 
doubt  could  ever  cross  it." 

He  raised  her  up,  almost  with  his  wonted  tenderness, 
to  his  knee,  and  supported  her  there ;  but  still  he  did 
not  speak.  His  heart  was  yet  too  much  torn  with  doubt 
and  agony  to  allow  him  any  voice.  But  his  action  had 
opened  the  fiood  gates  of  her  heart,  and  she  clasped  him 


226  A    FATAL    KESEMBLAJSTCE, 

closely,  and  cried  upon  his  bosom  with  the  abandon  of  a 
child/ 

Some  one  knocked  for  entrance  at  the  door  of  the  outer 
room.  Carnew  put  his  wife  down,  and  answered  it.  It 
was  a  message  from  Mrs.  Doloran  to  the  effect  that  Mr. 
Hay  man  was  waiting,  and  as  he  was  obliged  to  return  up 
the  river  some  miles  that  night,  it  would  oblige  him  if 
Mr.  Carnew  would  see  him  at  once. 

Ned  also  heard  the  message,  the  latter  not  being  de 
livered  in  a  very  subdued  key,  and  when  Alan  returned 
to  her,  her  tears  were  wiped  away,  and  she  confronted 
him  with  something  like  a  smile. 

"  I  heard  the  message,  Alan,  and  it  has  restored  me. 
Let  us  go  to  this  Mr.  I  layman  immediately,  and  lie  will 
disprove  this  horrible  story  ;  he  will  know  at  once  that  it 
was  not  /he  married  to  Mackay." 

She  was  so  eager  that  it  was  she  who  rather  led  him 
along  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  private  parlor ;  and  she  was  so 
confident,  and  even  so  happy,  feeling  that  convincing 
proof  of  her  innocence  was  so  near,  that  she  was  strong 
and  brave,  and  smiling,  and  almost  entirely  her  own  old 
self. 

Mr.  Dickson  was  in  the  private  parlor,  and  Mr.  I  lay 
man.  The  woman  Bunmer  and  the  baby  were  in  an 
ante-chamber,  ready  for  instant  production  on  being  re 
quired.  Mr.  Haymaiiwas  a  delicate-looking  little  gentle 
man,  with  very  fair  whiskers  and  a  very  weak,  strangle  1 
sort  of  voice,  as  if  something  within  him  was  perpetually 
struggling  with  his  vocal  organs. 

He  rose,  and  Mr.  Dickson  rose,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Oar- 
new  entered,  but  Mrs.  Doloran  remained  seated  in  her 
most  severe  attitude.  On  came  Ned  clasping  her  hus 
band's  arm  very  tight,  but  smiling  and  looking  with  all 
the  candor  and  innocence  of  a  child. 

Dickson  had  been  instructed  by  Mrs.  Doloran  to  intro 
duce  the  minister ;  probably  because  she  wanted  to  de 
vote  her  whole  attention  to  watching  the  effect  of  the  in 
troduction  upon  Ned.  The  young  man  performed  his  part 


A    FATAL   EKSEMBLANCti.  27 

respectfully,  and  even  gracefully,  and  then  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Hayman  said  in  his  strangled  voice,  as  he  bowed  to 
Mrs.  Carnew: 

"  I  remember  distinctly  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you 
before ;  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  your  private  marriage 
to  a  Richard  Mackay,  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-ninth 
of  August,  now  almost  two  years  ago.  I  remember  it  so 
distinctly,  because  both  you  and  the  young  gentleman 
seemed  very  much  flurried,  and  you  were  even  married 
with  your  veil  down.  When  you  went  into  the  vestry  to 
sign  your  names,  and  I  remarked  upon  the  strangeness  of 
such  a  name  as  Ned  for  a  lady,  you  threw  aside  your  veil 
for  an  instant,  as  if  in  f orgetf ulness,  and  I  recognize  now, 
only  possibly  somewhat  more  mature  looking,  the  face 
that  1  saw  then.  Further,  I  ventured  to  inquire  if  the 
lady  was  any  relative  of  the  wealthy  Mr.  Edgar  of  Barry- 
town,  and  I  was  told  that  she  wa,s  an  inmate  for  the  pres 
ent,  of  his  home,  and  supported  by  his  bounty,  for  whicli 
reason  it  would  be  most  imprudent  to  make  her  marriage 
known,  and  I  was  asked  to  keep  my  counsel  about  it.  I 
promised  to  do  so,  and  kept  the  promise  until  Mr.  Dick- 
son's  letter  reached  me  informing  me  what  urgent  reasons 
there  were  for  breaking  my  pledge  and  begging  me  to 
come  here." 

All  this  he  said,  looking  straight  at  Ned,  whose  smile 
vanished,  but  whose  spirit  rose  at  the  very  audacity  of  the 
charge. 

"  You  are  entirely  mistaken,"  she  said,  her  voice  and 
her  lips  quivering,  "  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my 
life." 

A  prolonged  and  derisive  "  oh  "  from  Mrs.  Doloran 
followed  Ned's  answer,  wThile  the  minister  for  an  instant 
seemed  slightly  nonplussed  by  the  firmness  and  even 
hardly  concealed  indignation  of  Ned's  reply.  But  he 
returned  to  the  charge,  even  putting  a  little  ministerial 
sterness  into  his  accents  : 

"  I  regret  exceedingly,  Mrs.  Carnew,  to  be  obliged  to 
repeat  my  statement:  you  are  the  lady  whom  I  married 


228  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

to  Richard  Mackay  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-ninth 
of  August,  now  nearly  two  years  ago." 

"  Can  you  swear  to  that  ? "  asked  Carnew  leaning  for 
ward,  and  speaking  still  in  his  changed  voice. 

"  I  can,"  returned  the  minister. 

"  Then  you  would  swear  to  a  lie,"  burst  from  Ned,  the 
indignant  tears  showing  in  her  eyes. 

"  Heroics,"  said  Mrs.  Doloraii  sarcastically  from  her 
chair. 

Alan  turned  to  his  wife ;  she  had  never  relaxed  her 
grasp  upon  his  arm,  and  now  her  hold  was  so  tight,  it 
seemed  as  if  her  fingers  were  a  vise.  God  help  her!  The 
anchor  to  which  she  clung,  her  husband's  trust  in  her,  was 
fast  slipping  away  ;  she  read  it  fully  at  last  in  his  eyes,  as 
he  uttered  but  one  word  :  "  Come  !  "  and  then  he  turned 
with  her  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Doloran  stirred  herself  : 

"  Alan,  you  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Bunmer,  nor  the  child." 

He  waived  her  back  with  a  sternness  that  even  she 
could  not  oppose,  and  he  went  on  silently  with  Ned  to 
their  own  apartments,  to  the  inner  room  which  they  had 
left  but  a  little  while  before.  There,  he  withdrew  him 
self  from  her  grasp,  and  stood  before  her.  For  one 
moment  his  face  was  white,  and  stern,  and  rigid,  as  it  had 
been  in  his  aunt's  parlor ;  but  the  next,  all  the  agony  of 
his  soul  broke  into  it,  and,  with  a  cry  that  pierced  like  a 
sword  the  heart  of  her  who  heard  it,  he  threw  himself  into 
a  chair,  and  covering  his  face  with  Ids  hands,  sat  bowed 
and  broken-looking,  as  if  old  age  had  suddenly  overtaken 
him. 

She  flew  to  his  side,  she  took  his  head  in  her  arms,  and 
she  dropped  her  own  burning  tears  upon  it. 

"  O  Ned !  "  he  said  at  last,  "  why  deceive  me  so  ?  Why 
not  have  told  me  before  our  marriage  that  you  were  a 
widow  ?  There  was  no  crime  in  your  having  married  two 
years  ago,  and  I  would  have  loved  you  the  same,  for  I 
loved  you  so  well,  Ned,  and  I  would  have  provided  for 
your  child." 

"Alan!  my  husband  !    lam  innocent  of  all  this — oh! 


A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  229 

if  I  could  only  tell  you,  but  I  am  bound  by  an  oath,  by  a 
solemn  oath." 

"  What  oath  ?  "  looking  at  her  with  eyes  that  seemed 
to  be  burned  back  into  his  head. 

"I  cannot  tell  you.  I  am  so  bound,  I  cannot  speak; 
but,  if  I  could,  O  Alan  !  then  you  would  know  how  I  am 
wronged." 

"  But  what  oath  caii  disprove  the  minister's  readiness  to 
swear  that  he  performed  the  ceremony  for  you  ?  What 
oath  can  give  the  lie  to  these  convincing  letters  of  the  un 
fortunate  Mackay  ?  What  oath  can  prevent  the  linking  of 
your  own  actions  into  overwhelming  proof  against  you  ? 
You  obtained  my  aunt's  permission  to  visit  your  friends — 
you  were  absent  at  the  very  time  that  the  child  was  born 
— you  overstayed  your  time  because,  according  to  your 
statement  on  your  return,  you  had  been  ill,  and  your 
feeble  appearance  when  you  did  return,  confirmed  your 
story. 

"  O  Ned  !  do  not  longer  keep  up  the  part  you  have  as 
sumed.  Your  duplicity  now  is  breaking  my  heart  more 
than  all  that  has  gone  before." 

She  clung  to  his  knees  again,  and  answered  with  a  sort 
of  piteous  horror : 

"  I  was  in  Albany,  while  I  was  away  from  your  aunt ; 
m  Albany  with  Meg,  and  Meg's  relatives,  and  I  was  sick 
with  a  fever  caught  there.  They  can  tell  yon  ;  they  can 
all  prove  what  I  say," — but  even  as  she  spoke,  there 
flashed,  in  a  sort  of  sickening  way  through  her  mind,  that 
Meg's  relatives  had  gone  to  Australia, — "  and  Mr.  Hay- 
man  may  confound  me  with  some  one  who  resembles  me." 

She  seemed  to  speak  with  the  energy  of  despair,  and 
only  that  her  sobs  choked  her,  she  would  have  continued. 

But  Alan,  though  his  heart  and  his  love  pleaded  for  her, 
could  not  believe  her.  Mackay's  letters  were  such  over 
whelming  proof  ;  then,  she  had  not  once  written  while  on 
her  reputed  visit  to  Albany,  another  suspicious  fact.  He 
mentioned  it. 

"  Because  I  was  taken  ill  so  soon  after  reaching  there," 


230  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

she  replied  between  her  sobs,  "  and  when  I  recovered  I 
was  deemed  too  weak  to  do  so,  and  told  that  I  could  make 
all  explanations  when  I  returned." 

"  But  some  one  could  have  written  for  you,"  lie  per 
sisted. 

"  O  Alan !  can't  you  understand  ?  They  were  all  more 
or  less  illiterate  people,  and  I  did  not  have  the  heart  to 
ask  any  of  them  to  undertake  the  task  of  writing  to  a  lady 
like  Mrs.  Doloran." 

"  But  the  minister,  Ned ;  how  could  lie  mistake  you  for 
another  ? " 

"I  don't  know;  such  things  have  happened — I  have 
read  of  them.  O  Alan  !  if  I  could  only  tell  you,  but  my 
oath,  my  oath." 

Her  face  was  buried  on  his  knee,  and  she  was  sobbing 
passionately. 

He  looked  down  at  her ;  down  at  the  lovely  head  with 
its  loosely  coiled  mass  of  soft,  dark  hair ;  down  at  the 
slight,  willowy,  quivering  form,  and  he  thought  of  her  re 
semblance  to  Edna,  of  her  own  words,  uttered  a  moment 
ago,  "  Mr.  Hay  man  may  confound  me  witli  some  one  who 
resembles  me,"  but,  in  a  moment  lie  rejected  as  absurd  the 
suspicion,  the  half  hope  which  had  come' to  him.  The  re 
semblance  between  the  two  girls,  while  it  was  certainly 
singularly  marked,  did  not  go  to  the  extent  of  making 
their  faces  exactly  alike ;  and  the  reverend  gentleman  had 
stated  distinctly  that  he  saw  Ned's  face.  Also,  it  was  im 
possible  that  Mackay  could  be  so  deceived  :  no  ;  Carnew 
was  certain,  much  as  he  tried  to  struggle  against  it,  that 
his  wife  was  guilty  ;  there  was  even  stealing  upon  him  a 
horrible  conviction  that  Ned's  friends  in  Albany,  if,  indeed, 
she  had  any  there,  knew  her  secret,  and  would  perjure 
themselves  to  save  her  ;  that  this  mysterious  oath  of  which 
she  spoke  was  only  a  subterfuge  to  explain  her  position ; 
in  short,  that  she  had  been  playing  a  part  ever  since  she 
came  to  Rahandabed,  that  she  was  acting  now,  and  that 
her  present  grief  was  only  a  part  of  her  clever  role. 

He  stood  up,  and  partly  shook  her  from  him  \  in  a 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  231 

helpless,  suppliant  way,  she  still  endeavored  to  cling,  but 
he  stooped,  unwound  her  hands,  and  went  from  her ;  went 
to  his  own  room,  and  locked  himself  in. 

XLI. 

Ned  dragged  herself  up  also,  and  almost  fell  into  the 
chair  her  husband  had  vacated.  What  should  she  do  ?  Her 
brain  seemed  too  much  on  fire  to  think,  and  her  temples 
throbbed  so  violently,  it  was  a  relief  to  hold  them.  To 
whom  should  she  go  ?  How  should  she  act  ?  Again  and 
again  she  asked  these  questions  of  herself  in  a  senseless 
sort  of  way,  much  as  a  demented  person  might  inco 
herently  repeat  a  certain  form  of  words :  but  at  length, 
when  more  than  an  hour  had  passed,  and  another  burst  of 
tears  had  come  to  her  relief,  making  her  eyes  feel  as  if 
they  were  only  burned  balls  moving  in  a  painful  way  in 
their  sockets,  her  thoughts  became  a  little  clearer.  Some 
thing  she  must  do,  and  do  immediately ;  she  would  go 
mad  if  she  remained  in  that  inaction.  She  would  go  to 
Mr.  Edgar  and  demand  to  be  informed  where  a  letter  could 
find  his  daughter,  then  she  would  write  to  Edna,  adjuring 
her  to  release  her  from  her  oath,  or  to  be  Christian 
enough  to  undo  herself  the  horrible  wrong  she  had  done. 
She  would  go  to  Meg,  and  bring  her  to  corroborate  her 
story  of  her  Albany  visit.  She  would  summon  Dyke, 
and  at  that  stage  of  her  resolutions  her  feelings  gave  way 
again,  and  she  was  sobbing  once  more. 

Dyke,  and  -Meg,  and  the  little  mountain  home,  and  her 
happy  childhood — oh !  how  in  this  hour  of  bitter  anguish 
she  longed  for  them  all !  but  more  than  all  for  true,  tender 
Dyke,  who  always  loved  her,  and  who,  somehow,  in  this 
dreadful  time,  she  felt  would  not  have  doubted  her,  in 
the  face  of  a  thousand  such  accusations. 

Her  bruised  heart  turned  to  him  ;  he  would  understand 
her,  and  pity  her  as  no  one  else  could  do  ;  he  would  advise 
her,  he  would  help  her.  Instantly  her  resolution  was 
taken :  she  would  go  to  Dyke — she  would  go  that  very 


232  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

evening.  Fortunately,  there  was  a  late  train.  The  neces 
sity  for  immediate  exertion  lent  her  strength. 

She  summoned  her  maid  and  sent  for  Macgilivray, 
meeting  the  man  in  the  corridor  when  he  came. 

Imperturable  as  his  Scotch  face  always  seemed  to  be  to 
any  emotion,  it  now  showed  an  involuntary  concern  for  the 
pallor  and  sadness  of  Ned's  appearance.  But,  without 
noticing  his  expression,  she  said  rapidly,  and  in  a  whis 
per:  . 

"  Be  ready  to  drive  me  to  the  station  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  I  shall  meet  you  a  little  beyond  the  entrance  to 
the  grounds." 

As  Carnew,  esteeming  the  Scotchman  for  his  honesty 
and  prudence,  had  taken  him  into  his  own  special  service, 
Macgilivray,  though  wondering  and  having  his  own  fears 
at  such  a  strange  request,  was  obliged  to  obey  ;  so  he 
bowed,  and  answered : 

"  All  right,  me  leddy  ;  "  since  Ned's  marriage  he  would 
so  distinguish  her. 

She  knew  it  was  unnecessary  to  caution  him  to  silence 
about  her  journey  ;  the  Scotchman  was  proverbial  for  his 
reticence  on  the  most  trivial  affairs.  But  Ned  forgot  her 
maid,  whom  she  had  sent  for  the  coachman,  and  who  was 
not  so  proverbial  for  her  reticence. 

Mrs.  Carnew  went  to  her  room.  With  feverish  haste, 
she  threw  off  her  handsome  dress,  and  put  on  one  that 
she  had  worn  when  she  was  only  the  u  companion."  Of 
every  jewel  on  her  person  which  had  been  Carnew's  gift 
she  divested  herself;  her  portemomiaie,  filled  with  his 
hands,  she  placed  on  her  dressing-table  beside  the  jewels, 
and,  going  to  her  trunk,  she  took  from  it  what  little  had 
remained  from  her  earnings  with  Mrs.  Doloran,  after  she 
had  sent  a  handsome  present  to  Meg.  There  was  suffi 
cient  to  defray  her  expenses  until  she  should  reach  Dyke. 
Then,  when  she  was  apparelled  for  the  road,  she  went  and 
listened  at  her  husband's  door.  There  was  a  hope  that  he 
would  hear  her ;  that  he  might  even  suspect  her  purpose 
and  come  forth,  when  she  could  once  more  re-iterate  her 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  233 

innocence  before  she  left  him.  But  everything  was  silent ; 
not  even  a  faint  moan  came  to  her  ear ;  and  in  that  grave- 
like  stillness  she  went  back  to  her  room,  and  wrote  a  note 
to  him — a  note  that  she  sealed  and  left  on  her  dressing- 
table  beside  his  gifts — her  jewels  and  portemonnaie.  She 
stole  out  then,  passing  by  his  door  again,  and  stopping  to 
kiss  one  of  the  panels,  as  if  to  delude  herself  into  the  belief 
that  it  was  a  kiss  wafted  to  him,  and  then  she  went  on. 
But  Jane  saw  her — Jane,  who  was  supposed  to  be  in  her 
own  apartment  until  summoned  to  assist  her  mistress  to 
retire — and  Jane  had  the  hardihood  to  follow. 

On  through  the  darkened  grounds,  for  the  moon  would 
not  rise  until  nearly  midnight,  the  young  wife  fled.  Flee 
ing  from  husband  and  home  ;  that  was  the  thought  in 
her  mind  as  she  hurried  to  where  Macgilivray  waited  ; 
but  it  was  from  a  husband  who  believed  her  unworthy  of 
his  love,  and  a  home  that  had  ceased  to  be  such  when 
Alan  ceased  to  love  her. 

The  darkness  on  the  outskirts  of  the  grounds  was  so 
great  that  it  struck  a  sort  of  chill  to  her,  and  it  brought 
up,  somehow,  the  dark  night  when  she  accompanied 
Edna  to  look  at  the  dead  Mackay.  Again  she  saw  the 
suicide,  and  Edna  kneeling  beside  him,  and  all  the  horri 
ble  events  of  that  night.  Little  she  dreamed  then  that  it 
would  cast  its  influence  so  far  ahead  upon  her  own  life  ; 
that  it  would  blight  and  blacken  her  hopes,  her  love,  her 
existence.  She  drew  her  cloak  closer  about  her,  and  hur 
ried  on. 

"  By  your  ain  sel',  me  leddy  ?  "  said  the  astonished,  and 
now  very  much  concerned  Scotchman,  as  he  flashed  the 
carriage  lamp  on  Mrs.  Carnew's  pale  and  somewhat  fright 
ened  face. 

"  Yes,  Donald ;  I  am  going  to  take  the  train  up  the 
river.  I  have  left  word  for  Mr.  Carnew.  Now  drive 
quick,  please.  There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

She  stepped  into  the  carriage  as  she  spoke,  and  Mac 
gilivray  felt  impelled  to  obey  her  order.  But,  at  the 


234:  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

station,  when  there  were  still  some  minutes  to  spare,  the 
honest  fellow  could  not  refrain  from  saying  : 

"  I'm  sair  tribbled,  me  leddj,  at  your  gang  like  this ;  it's 
noo  me  place  to  speak,  but  the  leek  o'  you  takin'  sich  a 
journey  at  this  time  o'  the  night,  and  with  none  but  your 
ain  sel',  it's— 
The  train  was  shrieking  its  near  approach,  and  Ned 
stopped  him  by  saying  : 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  fellow,  for  your  concern  about 
me ;  but  it  is  quite  right  for  me  to  take  this  journey 
unattended,  and  I  have  travelled  before,  you  know." 

She  smiled  and  waved  her  hand  to  him  from  the  plat 
form  of  the  car  which  she  had  ascended,  but  it  was  too 
dark  for  him  to  discern  either  very  plainly. 

"  Eight  for  her  to  tae  the  journey,"  he  muttered  to 
himself ;  "  aye,  an'  right  for  the  folks  that  came  to-day  to 
break  her  heart.  She's  gang  awa'  her  ain  sel',  because 
she's  noo  her  husband's  love  any  more,  an'  it's  plain  eneuch 
that  she's  gang  frae  his  haine  an'  his  heart." 

But  the  honest  Scotchman  kept  his  own  counsel,  little 
dreaming  that  before  Carnew  himself  should  be  apprised 
from  Ned's  note,  of  her  departure,  the  whole  servants' 
hall,  through  Jane's  account  of  all  that  she  accidentally  (?) 
saw,  would  be  discussing  his  wife's  flight. 

Carnew,  absorbed  in  his  agony,  hardly  noted  the  flight 
of  the  night.  When  the  garish  dawn  of  the  morning 
looked  in  through  his  windows,  it  found  him  in  the  same 
position,  flung  across  his  bed,  on  which  he  had  thrown 
himself  after  entering  his  room  and  locking  his  door. 
Everything  passed  in  review  before  him,  from  the  mo 
ment  that  he  saw  her  first,  to  the  day  of  his  marriage ; 
every  suspicion,  every  doubt  that  he  had  entertained  of 
her,  returned  to  him  with  a  sort  of  new  and  horrible  sig 
nificance  ;  even  the  forgotten  fact  of  Mr.  Edgar's  cold 
ness  to  her — Mr.  Edgar  who  had  been  her  educator,  her 
benefactor — there  certainly  must  be  grave  reason  for  the 
withdrawal  of  his  interest,  and  perhaps  even  graver  cause 
for  the  departure  of  Ned  from  Weewald  Place  to  earn 


A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  235 

her  own  living.  And  jet,  through  it  all,  through  his 
doubt  and  suspicion,  through  his  grief  and  indignation, 
through  every  outraged  feeling  that  seemed  to  be  mas 
tering  him  like  so  many  demons,  the  pale,  tearful,  re 
proachful,  beautiful  face  of  his  wife  appeared,  and  he 
found  himself  clasping  it  in  imagination  to  his  heart,  and 
letting  fall  upon  it  the  unmanly  tears  wrung  from  him  by 
his  fierce  sorrow. 

Like  a  drowning  man  clutching  at  straws,  he  cast  about 
him  for  some  help,  some  hope;  his  great  love  was  des 
perately  pleading  for  her,  and  desperately  struggling 
with  the  stern  passions  which  rent  him,  and  it  won  a  sort 
of  victory  at  last.  He  would  hold  in  abeyance  his  entire 
conviction  of  her  guilt  until  he  saw  Mr.  Edgar.  That 
gentleman  would  be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  all  which 
was  now  so  dark ;  he  could  at  least  tell  what  Ned's  con 
duct  had  been  while  she  lived  in  his  house,  and  whether 
he  thought  it  probable  that  she  could  be  guilty  of  so  much 
duplicity.  Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  and  being 
wearied  in  body  and  soul  by  his  long  hours  of  fevered 
thought,  he  dropped  at  last  into  a  heavy  slumbar.  But 
still  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  Ned.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  came  to  him,  softly,  for  fear  of  awaking  him,  and 
dropped  a  light  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  that  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  smiled  at  her,  that  he  extended  his  arms  to 
invite  her  to  his  embrace,  but  she  glided  from  him,  wear 
ing  the  sad,  reproachful  look  he  had  seen  last  upon  her 
face,  and  then,  as  she  disappeared  entirely,  not  going 
through  any  door,  but  vanishing  in  that  impalpable  way 
in  which  people  do  in  dreams,  he  saw  that  she  was  dressed 
for  a  journey ;  that  she  even  carried  a  little  travelling 
reticule.  He  tried  to  call  her  back,  but  his  tongue  re 
fused  to  move,  and  his  agonizing  effort  to  produce  somo 
sound  awoke  him. 

It  was  full  day  ;  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  through 
his  open  windows,  and  there  came  faintly  to  him  the 
sound  of  voices  from  the  garden  below.  He  started  up, 
still  under  the  influence  of  his  dream,  and  unlocking  his 


236  A     FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

door,  staggered  forth  into  the  adjoining  apartment.    There 
he  was  met  by  Jane. 

"  O  Mr.  Carnew !  I  was  just  going  to  ask  your  valet 
to  waken  you.  I  thought  I  heard  Mrs.  Carnew  ring  for 
me,  and  I  went  to  her  room,  but  she  is  not  there.  As  I 
am  always  summoned  to  go  to  her  before  this  hour  of 
the  morning,  I  couldn't  help  being  a  little  uneasy,  some 
how." 

She  told  the  truth  in  some  measure ;  she  was  uneasy, 
but  from  curiosity,  for  all  night  she  had  kept  herself 
awake  to  learn  if  Mrs.  Carnew  returned  ;  she  had  even 
the  hardihood  to  prowl  about  in  the  vicinity  of  her  mas 
ter's  room  to  discover  whether  he  were  really  in  his  own 
room  and  ignorant  of  his  wife's  proceeding.  "With  the 
first  light  of  the  morning,  she  had  stolen  to  Ned's  pri 
vate  dressing  chamber.  She  saw  the  jewels,  and  the  porte- 
monnaie,  and  the  note  beside  them  addressed  to  Alan, 
and  she  drew  her  own  inference — an  inference  that  made 
her  company  quite  agreeable  at  the  servants'  breakfast  table. 

Carnew  did  not  answer  her ;  he  hardly  looked  at  her,  but 
went  to  find  Ned. 

He  was  yearning  for  her  presence,  as  it  seemed  to  him 
he  had  ne^er  yearned  for  it  before.  He  entered  her 
room,  and  lie  saw  her  portemonnaie,  and  her  jewels,  and 
the  note.  With  a  hand  that  trembled  so  he  could  scarcely 
steady  it  to  break  the  seal,  he  opened  it. 

"  MY  DARLING  HUSBAND  : — I  am  going  to  Dyke  ;  lie 
will  help  and  advise  me.  lie  is  the  only  friend  to  whom 
I  can  turn  now,  for  were  a  thousand  vile  accusations 
brought  against  me,  his  love  for,  and  trust  in  me  would 
cast  them  all  aside.  And  he  may  be  able  to  devise  some 
means  of  proving  to  you  my  innocence.  Until  that  time, 
until  you  can  hold  me  to  your  heart  again,  feeling  that  I 
am  as  worthy  of  your  love  as  you  thought  me  on  our 
wedding  morn,  I  think  it  is  better  .that  I  should  remain 
away  from  you.  But  you  will  be  with  me  always,  Alan ; 
my  heart  holds  only  you,  and  it  never,  never  held  any 
one  else  in  the  relation  you  bear  and  h^v-e  borne  to  me. 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  23  T 

I  kiss  you,  my  own,  a  thousand  times,  and  may  God  bless 
you  and  keep  you. 

"  Your  loving  and  innocent  wife, 

"  NED  CARNEW." 

The  letter  fell  from  his  grasp,  and  he  sank  with  a  groan 
into  a  chair.  Instead  of  softening  and  winning  him,  the 
little,  pathetic  note  only  closed  the  tender  springs  of  his 
heart  that  had  been  opened  despite  himself  during  his 
vigil  of  the  night,  and  that  had  been  made  to  flow  even 
more  plentifully  by  his  dream  of  the  morning.  She  had 
chosen  to  flee  from  his  home,  his  protection,  and  to  Dyke, 
of  whom  she  spoke  even  in  her  note  in  terms  of  endear 
ment  only  befitting  a  lover,  or  a  husband.  With  strange 
inconsistency  he  became  violently  jealous  of  Dyke.  He 
called  to  mind  all  Ned's  fondness  for  Dutton,  the  very 
kiss  she  had  so  openly  given  him  in  the  office  in  New 
York,  her  solicitude  for  him  on  all  occasions,  and  at 
the  same  time  he  quite  forgot  the  right,  the  duty 
which  was  hers  to  love  him. 

He  quite  forgot  that  he  himself  had  thought  that  very 
affection  a  noble  trait  in  his  wife's  character,  and  that  he 
had  even  loved  Dyke,  because  the  latter  was  so  fond  of 
Ned. 

As  men  violently  disturbed  by  passions  of  their  own 
rousing  are  seldom  capable  of  seeing,  even  in  an  in 
distinct  way,  an  unbiassed  side  of  the  case,  so  Carnew  drove 
on  to  another  rock  that  threatened  the  destruction  of  his 
happiness. 

Ned  had  deserted  him!  He  would  not  lift  a  finger  to 
bring  her  back,  but  he  would  go  t that  very  day  to  Edgar 
and  satisfy  himself  upon  the  point  he  had  raised  the  pre 
vious  night.  Ah,  down  in  his  secret  heart  were  the  hope, 
the  wish,  the  passionate  yearning,  that,  in  spite  of  what 
Edna  had  once  told  him  regarding  her  father's  little 
regard  for  Ned,  in  spite  of  what  his  own  eyes  had  witnessed 
of  Mr.  Edgar's  coldness  to  Ned,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Ned  had  always  been  strangely  silent  upon  the  subject, 


238  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Mr.  Edgar  would  say  something  tliat  would  imply  his 
own  doubt  of  Ned's  guilt.  If  Edgar  doubted,  could  not 
lie,  lier  husband,  doubt  also  ?  And  if  he  doubted,  could 
he  not  take  her  to  his  heart,  to  his  love  again  ? 

O  Ned,  how  hard  your  sweet  face  fought  for  the 
victory ! 

XLII. 

Mrs.  Carnew  slept  no  more  upon  her  night  journey 
than  did  her  husband  in  his  bitter  vigil.  So  impulsive 
had  been  her  action,  and  so  absorbed  was  she  in  the  emo 
tion  by  which  her  very  soul  was  torn,  that  she  never 
thought  of  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered  in  a  journey 
to  her  mountain  home  at  that  unseasonable  time. 

The  train  deposited  her  in  a  village  opposite  Saugerties, 
at  a  late  hour,  and  then  there  was  the  river  to  be  crossed, 
and  a  twelve-mile  drive  that  led  up  the  mountains. 

For  the  first  time  she  realized  her  awkward  situation, 
an  unprotected  young  woman  out  at  that  hour  of  the  night, 
and  her  heart  beat  violently.  Still,  she  assured  herself 
somewhat  by  remembering  that  she  was  very  plainly  and 
darkly  dressed,  and  that  her  veil  concealed  as  much  of  her 
face  as  was  possible  without  obscuring  her  vision.  And, 
as  she  looked  about  her  in  the  little  waiting-room,  she  had 
some  thought  of  seating  herself  quietly  in  a  corner  until 
morning.  The  impracticability  of  that  idea,  however, 
showed  itself  in  a  moment,  for  a  couple  of  loungers 
seated  themselves  at  no  great  distance  from  her,  and 
though  the  light  in  the  place  was  too  feeble  to  discern  their 
faces  plainly,  she  felt  they  were  looking  at  her.  Not  even 
daring  to  hazard  a  question  of  them,  she  left  her  seat  and 
went  forth.  She  knew  that  hotel  facilities  were  much 
greater  than  when  she  was  a  child,  and  she  hoped  that 
that  there  might  be  something  of  the  sort  convenient. 
She  had  not  walked  long  before  the  appearance  of  a 
certain  building  seemed  to  promise  a  fuMhnent  of  her 
hope,  and  to  her  satisfaction  she  found  it  was  so.  But 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  239 

the  accommodations  were  most  rude,  only  intended  for 
railroad  employees  the  people  told  her  civilly  enough,  and 
then  they  as  civilly  added  that,  as  she  had  been  belated, 
and  knew  not  where  to  go  until  morning,  they  would  try 
to  accommodate  her,  which  accommodation  not  only 
furnished  her  lodging,  but  included  her  breakfast  for 
what  seemed  to  be  a  very  moderate  sum.  She  had  some 
delay  in  crossing  the  river,  the  rude  boat  used  for 
the  transportation  of  passengers  being  slow  in  crossing 
the  stream,  and  not  over-prompt  in  starting ;  but  that 
being  at  length  accomplished,  she  had  only  to  hire  a  con 
veyance  for  the  mountain  drive.  At  the  place  where  she 
decided  to  apply,  the  man  looked  hard  at  her,  when  she 
said  she  wanted  to  go  to  Mr.  Button's ;  but  lie  made  no 
remark  further  than  to  tell  her  the  price  of  the  drive,  and 
how  long  it  would  take  to  reach  her  destination. 

How  the  lumbering  ride  and  the  scenes  about  her, 
the  familiar  aspect  of  which  came  back  with  a  suddenness 
that  seemed  to  bridge  over  at  once  the  gap  of  years  inter 
vening  since  she  passed  through  them  last,  brought  torhe 
mind  the  old,  happy  days ! 

Changes  in  those  times  were  not  quite  so  rapid  as  in 
these  days  of  scientific  speed,  and  Ned  recognized,  or  at 
least  thought  she  recognized,  the  same  unpainted  houses, 
at  such  long  distances  apart,  and  even  the  very  same 
roomy,  open,  shaky-looking  barns  belonging  to  the  un 
painted  houses,  but  situated  from  them  the  length  of  a 
field.  Even  the  mountain  road,  which  the  horse  so  slowly 
and  laboriously  ascended  that  the  sleepy  driver  seemed  to 
awake  a  little  to  the  difficulty,  and  to  sympathize  with 
the  beast  to  the  extent  of  panting  somewhat  on  his  own 
account,  was  apparently  the  same  she  had  driven  along 
in  her  childhood.  There  were  the  stately  trees  that  once 
to  her  had  such  human  significance,  and  now  they  were 
passing  the  ravine  which  she  used  to  people  with  the 
elves  that  Dyke  told  her  about.  Again,  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  gorge,  with  its  unknown  and  dreaded  depths, 
and  then  some  grand  old  peak  of  a  majestic  mountain 


240  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

came  In  sight,  with  the  sunlight  gilding  it,  and  the  light 
blue  sky  kissing  it,  and  all  nature  about  it  shrouding  it 
in  solitude  and  sublimity.  Not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
stillness  save  the  creaking  of  the  wagon  and  the  occasional 
puffing  of  driver  and  beast,  but  to  Ned  it  seemed  as  if  the 
solitude  was  peopled  with  voices — voices  that  cried  "lost," 
to  signify  that  all  she  was  leaving  was  lost  to  her  forever. 
She  tried  not  to  look  about  her,  so  that  the  voices  might 
cease,  and  she  tried,  by  thinking  alone  of  what  Dyke  would 
say  when  he  saw  her,  to  shut  out  the  memories  of  her 
childhood.  But  they  only  came  the  more,  making  her 
heart  and  her  head  ache ;  and  for  the  last  hour  of  the 
ride,  she  held  her  clasped  hands  on  her  forehead,  to  en 
deavor  to  lessen  the  violent  throbbing  of  her  temples. 

At  length  they  came  in  sight  of  the  dear  old  dwelling. 
It  had  the  same  mottled  appearance  she  remembered  so 
well.  True  to  his  promise  to  Meg,  Dyke  had  not  altered 
an  iota  of  its  old,  simple  fashion.  She  stopped  the  sleepy 
driver  and  told  him  he  need  come  no  farther.  She  would 
alight  and  walk  the  rest  of  the  distance.  She  wanted  no 
stranger's  eye  on  her  meeting  with  Dyke,  and  she  waited 
until  the  vehicle  had  turned  about  and  was  proceeding 
down  the  road  before  she  went  on.  Then,  though  she 
had  been  so  impatient  to  reach  her  journey's  end,  she 
walked  very  slowly.  Her  heart  was  beating  as  if  it  would 
burst  from  her  trembling  frame,  and  the  color  was  going 
and  coining  in  her  face  with  fitful  rapidity. 

Some  one  came  out  of  the  little  dwelling — some  one 
who  walked  slowly  also,  as  if  grief  or  care  might  have 
weighted  his  steps.  In  a  moment,  she  saw  it  was  Dyke, 
and  he  was  coming  toward  her ;  but  he  did  not  see  her, 
for  his  head  was  down.  She  threw  her  veil  far  back  and 
quickened  her  steps.  He  raised  his  eyes  on  the  sound. 
On  she  came,  opening  her  arms  to  him,  and  with  a  cry  of 
strangely  mingled  ioy,  and  sorrow,  and  relief,  she  threw 

/»  i i    • 

herself  upon  his  breast. 

He  put  out  his  hands  and  held  her  there,  too  much  as- 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE, 

tounded  to  titter  a  single  word,  and  yet  somehow  divining 
that  her  singular  visit  was  not  made  in  pleasure. 

Tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  she  sobbed  upon  his  bosom, 
as  she  had  sobbed  the  night  before  on  her  husband's  knee. 
He  knew  now  that  she  had  come  to  him  in  trouble,  and 
he  did  not  ask  a  single  question  while  her  burst  of  grief 
continued.  He  only  held  her  to  his  heart  as  if,  despite 
what  terrors,  what  troubles  might  menace  her,  he  would 
shield  her  from  them  all.  But  his  face  had  grown  very 
pale,  and  his  heart  was  beating  almost  as  violently  as  her 
own  was  doing. 

When  her  tears  had  ceased,  and  she  had  lifted  her  head 
from  his  breast,  lie  said : 

"  Now,  Ned  ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  And  how  have  you 
come  all  this  distance  alone  ?  " 

"  Come  off  the  road  somewhere,  where  we  can  talk," 
she  answered,  continuing  as  she  took  his  arm,  "  not  into 
the  house,  I  don't  want  to  go  there  yet ;  I  don't  want  to 
see  Meg  until  I  have  told  all  to  you.  I  am  so  glad  that  I 
met  you." 

"  Yes,  Ned ;  I  also  am  glad  that  I  met  you  before  you 
saw  Meg." 

There  was  a  strange  and  sorrowful  significance  in  his 
tones,  but  she  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Come  to  the  wood,"  she  said,  "  I  can  tell  you  all 
there." 

And  to  the  wood  they  went ;  the  old  beloved  wood  of 
her  childhood,  with  its  serried  ranks  of  trees,  now  some 
what  thinner,  for  the  age  of  progress  had  penetrated  there 
in  the  shape  of  a  greater  frequency  of  the  woodman's  axe. 
They  seated  themselves  beneath  one  of  the  stately  trees? 
she,  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  his  knee,  and  her 
anxious,  tear-stained  face  lifted  to  his  own ;  lie,  stooped 
forward  in  his  eagerness  to  hear,  and  his  mouth  com 
pressed  and  rigid  as  it  always  became  when  his  heart  was 
stirred. 

She  told  her  pitiful  story  ;  from  the  first  to  the  last  of 
all  that  had  happened,  save  that  she  did  not  break  her  oath 


242  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

to  Edna,  but  she  said  as  she  had  said  to  her  husband,  that 
she  was  bound  by  an  oath,  which,  if  she  could  only  divulge, 
would  immediately  prove  her  innocence. 

"  But  don't  ask  me  where,  nor  to  whom  I  gave  the 
oath,"  she  added,  "  for  I  cannot  tell  you." 

Dyke  did  not  answer  that  plea,  but  he  said,  while  the 
rigidity  about  his  mouth  became  more  marked  ; 

"  And  your  husband  did  not  believe  you  f  He  believed 
instead  what  these  strange  people  said." 

"  But  Dyke,  how  could  he  do  otherwise  in  the  face  of 
so  much  against  me.  These  letters  of  Mackay,  the  min 
ister's  assertion,  all  that  I  have  told  you  ?  How  can  we 
blame  him  for  thinking  me  guilty  ?  " 

"  His  love  for  you,  Ned,  should  have  been  stronger 
than  all  that." 

He  arose  then,  as  if  to  shake  from  him  some  painful 
feeling,  and  he  walked  away  a  few  steps.  Then  he  re 
turned  and  seated  himself  again  : 

"  I  want  a  little  time,  Ned,  to  think  what  is  best  to  be 
done  for  you  ;  and  you,  after  your  long  journey,  and  all 
that  you  have  endured,  sadly  need  rest ;  so,  when  you  have 
had  some  refreshment,  and  have  gone  to  bed,  I  shall  try 
to  form  some  plan  for  us." 

She  rose  at  once,  but  he  gently  pulled  her  back  : 

"  I  have  something  else  to  say.  There  is  a  change  in 
Meg ;  she  is  not  quite  herself.  I  do  not  mean  that  she  is 
insane,  nor  yet  idiotic,  but  there  is  a  sort  of  strange  dotage 
upon  her  which  might  shock  and  pain  you  if  you  came 
upon  her  suddenly.  She  has  lost  her  memory  to  a  great 
extent,  and  while  she  will  know  you  and  greet  you  with 
affection,  she  will  have  forgotten  those  things  that  it  might 
be  your  delight  to  have  her  remember.  When  I  went  to 
Albany  for  her,  I  noticed  the  change,  but  it  was  very  slight 
then.  I  remained  with  her  in  Albany  after  our  relatives  had 
gone  to  Australia,  in  order  to  consult  a  physician.  He  said  it 
was  a  gradual  softening  of  the  brain  ;  that  she  would  proba 
bly  live  a  lon^  time,  but  that  she  would  never  recover.  I 
found  a  good  honest  woman  who  was  willing  to  accom- 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  243 

pany  us  here,  and  I  did  not  tell  you  about  this  change 
when  I  wrote,  because  I  could  not  bear  to  sadden  your 
anticipations  of  your  visit  to  your  old  home.  But  I  was 
glad  to  meet  you  to-day  in  order  to  prepare  you  before  I 
brought  you  into  the  house.  Now,  Ned,  we  shall  go." 

He  gave  her  his  hand  to  assist  her,  and  she  with  the 
other  hand  brushed  away  the  tears  his  recital  had  caused. 
How  everything  that  she  loved  was  changing !  Would 
Dyke  change  too  ?  In  appearance  he  had  changed,  and 
sadly  so.  He  was  slightly  stooped,  he  who  had  been  so 
erect ;  and  his  face  was  lined,  and  his  hair  was  slightly 
gray,  and  his  wrhole  manner  was  touchingly  indicative  of 
silent  suffering.  Even  in  her  own  sorrows  Ned  sadly 
noted  all  that,  but  she  also  knew  that  while  his  heart  con 
tinued  to  beat,  and  his  intellect  remained  unclouded,  he 
would  never  change  to  her. 

Meg  knew  Ned,  and  evinced  as  many  extravagant  signs 
of  delight  at  seeing  her  as  she  might  have  done  in  the 
days  of  her  soundest  mind,  but  her  malady  was  soon  ap 
parent  ;  she  remembered  nothing  of  Ned's  marriage,  nor 
of  her  visit  to  Albany  where  she  had  seen  her  last,  nor 
did  she  make  a  single  inquiry  about  the  cause  of  Ned's 
present  and  unannounced  appearance.  Some  indistinct 
remembrances  of  the  young  girl's  childhood  she  had,  and 
of  her  school-days,  and  that  she  had  gone  to  live  with  Mr. 
Edgar,  but  further  than  that  everything  seemed  a  blank. 
She  would  nod  and  smile  when  reminded  of  certain  in 
cidents,  but  it  was  evident  she  did  not  remember  them. 
She  comprehended  perfectly  when  Dyke  spoke  of  refresh 
ment  and  rest  for  their  visitor,  and  she  even  busied  her 
self  in  helping  the  hired  woman  to  set  the  repast : 
afterward,  she  accompanied  Ned  to  the  latter's  own  old 
room,  and  waited  until  she  was  comfortably  in  bed.  Then 
she  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  Ned  held  for  a  long  time 
to  her  own,  the  precious  old  face. 

Her  fatigue  caused  her  to  sink  at  once  into  a  deep 
slumber,  and  when  she  awoke  the  long  bright  day  was 
nearly  done.  For  a  moment  as  she  looked  about  her  on 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tlie  old,  familiar  surroundings  of  her  childhood,  it  seemed 
as  if  all  the  years  which  had  intervened  were  only  a  dream, 
and  that  she  was  really  a  happy  child  again.  In  that  one 
brief,  whirling  moment,  Ranandabed,  Mackay,  even  her 
husband,  were  no  longer  realities,  and  under  that  im 
pression  she  started  up  ;  and  then  the  delusion  fled.  The 
cruel  weight  came  back  to  her  heart,  the  wild,  burning 
thoughts  to  her  brain.  She  thought,  while  she  bathed  her 
face,  of  Dyke's  promise  to  think  out  some  plan ;  in  all 
those  hours  he  surely  must  have  done  so,  and  she  hurried 
her  toilet  in  order  to  join  him.  But,  when  she  came  out 
of  her  room,  Anne  McCabe,  the  strong,  stout,  good- 
natured  looking  hired  woman,  said  that  Dyke  had  left  a 
note  for  her,  and  then  she  got  the  note,  and  Ned  read  : 

"  DEAR  NED : — I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  while 
you  slept,  and  I  have  come  at  last  to  a  course  of  action  ; 
but  I  would  rather  not  tell  you  what  it  is,  until  I  have 
tried  it.  You  have  sufficient  trust  in  me  to  bear  with  my 
secrecy.  This  plan  of  mine  will  take  me  away,  for  per 
haps  some  days,  but  you,  Ned,  remain  quietly  as  you  are. 
Anne  McCabe  is  quiet  and  good-hearted,  and  little  given 
to  curiosity.  She  will  do  all  she  can  for  your  comfort. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  Meg  to  have  you,  and  the  quiet  and  rest 
will  be  beneficial  to  yourself.  Be  as  cheerful  and  hope 
ful  as  you  can  be,  dear  Ned,  and  He  who  guides  us  all 
will  steer  you  also  safely  into  light  and  happiness  again. 
You  shall  hear  from  me  soon. 

"  DYKE." 

As  she  read  it  over  and  over,  wondering  what  could  be 
the  plan  that  took  him  from  her  side  at  such  a  time,  no 
inkling  of  the  truth  came  to  her. 

Dyke,  with  a  singular,  far-seeing  prudence,  would  not 
spend  one  night  under  the  roof  that  gave  shelter  to  Ned. 
If  her  husband's  love  had  already  succumbed  to  accusa 
tions  against  her,  might  it  not  further  yield  to  suspicion 
from  any  trifling  source?  Might  not  her  very  secret 
flight  to  Dyke,  who  after  all  was  no  relation,  be  construed 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  245 

into  something  more  against  her  character  ?  At  least  such 
were  the  fears  that  came  to  him,  and  that  made  him  de 
termine,  before  he  reached  any  other  resolution,  to  leave 
the  house  while  Ned  slept,  for  he  could  not  explain  his 
motive  to  her  who  was  so  guileless,  so  unsuspicious.  Arid, 
when  that  was  settled,  he  seemed  to  see  his  way  clearer. 
As  he  remembered  Edna's  character,  when  she  was  a 
child,  and  as  from  what  little  he  had  managed  to  glean 
about  her  in  her  more  mature  years,  that  character  did  not 
seem  to  have  lost  any  of  its  unlovely  traits,  he  did  not 
think  it  improbable  that  she  was  in  some  way  the  source 
of  all  the  mischief.  The  oath  of  which  Ned  spoke,  beg 
ging  him  not  to  ask  where,  nor  to  whom  she  had  made  it, 
somehow  confirmed  his  suspicion.  To  him,  from  the  first 
time  the  children  saw  each  other,  Edna  had  been  a  sort  of 
evil  genius  to  Ned,  and  though  the  letters  of  the  latter, 
when  she  was  a  child  at  school,  never  complained  of  Edna, 
still  he  felt  that  every  one  of  her  childish  troubles  there, 
were  due  to  her  cousin.  And  the  evil  genius  possibly 
had  not  become  less  as  the  children  grew ;  it  had  flamed 
probably  on  many  occasions,  until  it  had  cast  this  last 
blight.  Such  were  Dyke's  thoughts,  and  he  could  not 
curb  them.  He  knew  that  Edna  had  married  and  gone 
abroad.  Ned  had  given  him  that  news  in  one  of  her 
letters  just  after  the  event,  and  even  those  facts  somehow 
convinced  him  the  more.  He  was  almost  prepared  to 
swear  that  Edna  was  Mackay's  wife  and  the  mother  of  the 
child.  And  since  he  was  so  convinced,  he  determined  to 
repair  at  once  to  Mr.  Edgar  and  confer  with  that  gentle 
man.  Afterward,  he  would  see  Carnew.  So,  leaving 
the  note  for  Ned,  and  instructing  Anne  MeCabe  to  be 
very  attentive  to  the  young  lady,  ha  packed  what  he 
needed  for  his  journey,  kissed  Meg,  who,  while  she  re 
turned  his  kiss  fondly,  expressed  no  surprise  at  his  de 
parture,  and  taking  the  hired  man  with  him  in  order  that 
the  vehicle  might  be  returned,  he  drove  rapidly  to 
Saugerties. 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

XLIIL 

All  Rahandabed  was  in  commotion  on  the 
after  Ned's  flight.  Every  servant  in  the  place  knew  it, 
Mrs.  Doloran  knew  it,  and  the  guests  knew  it  almost  as 
soon  as  Carnew  himself  knew  it.  Were  he  not  in  such  a 
state  of  grief  and  perplexity,  he  must  have  wondered  a 
little  how  her  flight  became  known  so  speedily ;  but,  as  it 
was,  he  thought  of  nothing  only  that  she  had  gone,  and 
gone  to  Dyke,  that  she  had  not  taken  with  her  one  of  his 
gifts,  that  the  evidence  of  her  guilt  was  most  conclusive, 
but  that  in  spite  of  it  all  he  passionately  loved  her.  For 
some  time  it  did  not  occur  to  him  how  she  had  gone,  and 
whether  to  New  York,  or  to  the  little  home  in  the  moun 
tains,  for  he  had  not  heard  Dyke's  letter  which  told  of  his 
return  from  New  York.  At  length,  however,  he  found 
himself  wondering  about  it,  and  becoming  anxious  for  her 
safety  on  such  a  journey  at  such  an  hour,  lie  sent  for 
Macgilivray,  as  being  the  most  likely  to  have  driven  Ned 
to  the  station,  and  Macgilivray  told  him  all  that  he  knew. 
He  had  driven  Mrs.  Carnew  to  take  the  late  train  up  the 
river,  and  he  had  purchased  her  ticket  for  Tivoli.  Car- 
new  asked  no  other  question,  but  dismissed  him.  The 
honest  Scotchman  was  convinced  then  of  tiie  truth  of  the 
impression  lie  had  received  the  night  before  ;  the  young 
wife  had  indeed  "  taken  hersel'  awa'  frae  her  husband's 
heart  and  her  husband's  hame,"  but,  as  before,  he  pru 
dently  kept  his  own  counsel,  though  he  was  vexed  and 
indignant  and  puzzled,  to  find  that  his  fellow-help  knew 
so  much.  They  even  asserted  to  his  face  that  he  had  been 
in  waiting  with  the  carriage  for  Mrs.  Carnew  the  night 
before,  and  that  he  was  like  the  rest  of  his  long-headed, 
canny  race,  in  keeping  the  affair  to  himself,  but  it  didn't 
do  him  much  good,  for  they  had  found  out  anyway.  To 
all  of  which  he  replied  in  his  dry  manner : 

"  Then  it's  frae  the  auld  hornie  you  got  your  informa 
tion,  and  mebbe  the  same  auld  deil  wouldn't  mind  tellin' 
you  where  Mrs.  Carnew's  gang."  Knowing  their  ignor- 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  247 

ance  upon  that  point,  lie  gave  that  shot  with  supreme 
satisfaction  to  himself. 

But  one  of  the  help  retorted : 

"Wait  till  Mrs.  Doloran  sends  for  you,  as  she'll  be 
sure  to  do,  when  she  finds  out  you  drove  Mrs.  Carnew  away 
last  night.  You'll  not  carry  such  a  bold  face  with  her, 
even  though  you  are  not  in  her  special  employ  just 
now." 

But  the  Scotchman  answered  with  the  same  dry  grav 
ity  he  had  used  before  : 

"  Dinna  greit !  me  lady  has  tackled  me  before,  and 
Donald  has  noo  been  wantin'  in  his  ain  way  o'  answerin' 
her." 

The  servant's  prediction  was  verified.  The  moment 
that  Mrs.  Doloraii  heard  from  her  own  maid,  who  was  of 
the  kind  to  retail  all  sorts  of  gossip  to  her  mistress,  that 
Macgilivray  was  implicated  in  the  flight,  he  was  sum 
moned  to  her  presence ;  it  was  her  way  to  get  all  the 
information  she  could  from  menials,  before  taking  any 
other  step. 

The  coachman  was  as  wary,  innocent,  and  non-com 
mittal  as  he  had  been  on  a  former  occasion,  when  she 
had  endeavored  to  extract  information  about  Alan ;  and 
in  a  perfect  burst  of  fury,  she  threatened  to  have  him 
summarily  discharged. 

"  Yera  weel,  me  leddy ;  when  Mr.  Carnew  bids  me  I'll 

ng,  arid  have  noo  to  say  but  to  thank  him  ;  but  till  then 
'11  noo  greit." 

She  fairly  drove  him  from  the  room,  in  her  vulgar  fury 
actually  hurling  after  him  a  silken-covered  foot-stool. 
It  missed  him,  owing  to  his  own  dexterity,  but  it  shat 
tered  two  of  the  stained-glass  panes  in  a  window  that 
lighted  the  passage  leading  to  her  apartment. 

Then  she  sent  for  her  nephew  ;  an  imperative  sum 
mons,  to  which  he  returned  a  respectful  reply,  but  one 
declining  to  see  her.  Such  an  answer  did  not  diminish 
her  anger,  and  with  her  face  blazing,  and  even  so  swol 
len  that  her  very  temples  seemed  to  project,  she  descended 


248  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

to  find  Ordotte.  He  was  just  entering  the  breakfast-room 
with  his  hands  full  of  roses ;  it  was  his  self-appointed 
morning  task,  while  the  roses  were  in  bloom,  to  put  bou 
quets  of  them  beside  each  lady's  plate;  but  everybody 
saw  that  Mrs.  Carnew  always  received  the  largest  and  the 
handsomest  flowers. 

With  a  pleasant  good  morning  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  he  was 
going  to  Ned's  plate,  selecting  the  roses  as  he  went. 

The  lady's  anger  gave  way  to  scorn. 

"  You  can  save  yourself  the  trouble,  Mascar ;  I  suppose 
you  have  not  heard,  but  Mrs.  Carnew,  overwhelmed  by 
the  disgrace  of  having  her  guilt  found  out,  has  fled  from 
Rahandabed.  She  went  away,  secretly,  last  night." 

Ordotte  had  not  heard  of  the  flight,  and  he  was,  per 
haps,  the  only  person  in  the  whole  place  who  had  not, 
owing  no  doubt  to  his  little  intercourse  with  the  servants  ; 
there  was  a  something  about  his  tawny  face  and  strange 
manner  that  both  awed  and  repelled  them.  Now,  as  he 
listened  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  he  dropped  the  flowers  in  his 
surprise,  and  ejaculated : 

"  What  ? "  in  such  an  astonished  manner,  that  one 
would  think  he  had  received  an  internal  shock. 

"  Yes,  she's  gone,  the  brazen  jade,"  resumed  Mrs.  Dolo 
ran.  "  She  knew  she  couldn't  face  it  out,  and  so  she 
thought  she  had  better  go." 

"  But  where  has  she  gone  ? "  asked  Ordotte ;  "  and 
what  does  Alan  say  1 " 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  That  fool,  Macgilivray,  drove  her  in  the  carriage  from 
here  last  nigh  t,  but  he  is  as  close  as  an  oyster  about  it ; 
and  as  for  Alan,  like  the  fool  that  he  is,  he's  shut  up  in 
his  own  room,  and  won't  see  anybody.  I  am  sure  we're 
well  rid  of  her ;  Rahandabed  would  have  been  disgraced 
while  she  continued  here.  Faugh !  how  I  detest  her." 

"  Poor  creature  !  Is  there  no  loop-hole  for  her  ?  "  said 
Ordotte  almost  involuntarily. 

«  Poor  creature ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Doloran,  anger  and 


A    FATAL   KESEMBLANCE.  249 

contempt  struggling  in  her  tones.  "Do  you  wish  to 
insult  me,  Mascar  ? " 

"  Not  for  all  the  rajahs  in  the  Punjaub,  madam,"  replied 
the  gentleman  with  assumed  penitence,  and  bowing  pro 
foundly,  "  but  I  was  only  thinking,  had  the  proofs  of  her 
guilt  been  so  very  clear,  so  entirely  conclusive " 

"Mascar  Ordotte!"  shrieked  the  lady,  "have  you 
taken  leave  of  your  senses  ?  Do  you  want  any  more  con 
clusive  proofs  than  those  letters  from  Mackay  that  you 
read,  than  what  I  told  you  of  how  Mr.  Hayman  acted, 
and  what  he  said  ;  than  all  the  woman  Bunmer  tells  ? " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Doloran,  men  have  been  hung  on  the 
very  strongest  circumstantial  evidence,  and  after  their 
death  their  innocence  has  been  proven." 

"  Well,  you  had  better  undertake  to  prove  her  inno 
cence,"  her  voice  fairly  hissing  from  anger  and  scorn. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Doloran,"  he  had  assumed  what  to  any 
body  else  would  have  been  a  most  comical  attitude,  and 
mock  expression  of  penitence  and  humility,  "  we  shall 
allow  the  dear  young  lady  to  be  quite  guilty  ;  we  shall  not 
raise  the  ghost  of  an  event  to  prove  her  innocence." 

He  was  actually  on  one  knee,  with  Mrs.  Doloran's  hand 
to  his  lips,  a  scene  stealthily  witnessed  by  the  butler,  who 
had  retreated  to  his  pantry  when  the  two  entered  the 
room,  and  afterward  detailed  by  him  to  his  fellow-help 
with  an  actual  impersonation  of  Ordotte's  attitude,  that 
sent  the  whole  servants'  hall  into  convulsions  of  laughter. 

But  Mrs.  Doloran  was  appeased,  and  she  forgave  the 
suppliant,  and  arm  in  arm  they  continued  the  tour  of  the 
table,  placing  the  roses,  and  leaving  Ned's  place  signifi 
cantly  vacant. 

Early  in  the  day,  Alan  was  ready  for  his  journey  to 
Weewald  Place,  and  Macgilivray  drove  him  to  the  sta 
tion,  feeling  certain  that  his  master  was  going  after  the 
runaway  wife. 

Mr.  Edgar  was  at  home,  and  he  responded  in  person  to 
Mr.  Carnew's  card.  But  what  a  change  had  taken  place 
in  him!  Alan  started  wlnn  he  saw  him,  and  extended 


250  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

his  hand  almost  as  if  he  were  in  some  uncertainty  about 
the  gentleman's  identity.  His  hair  had  become  entirely 
gray  ;  not  a  black  streak  was  to  be  seen  in  it,  and  his  beard 
and  moustache  were  equally  bleached.  Heavy  furrows 
indented  his  face,  and  his  eyes  had  the  deep,  hollow  look 
of  one  accustomed  to  long  and  painful  vigils. 

For  a  moment,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  struggling  with 
himself  in  order  to  be  cordial,  and  he  evidently  succeeded, 
for  after  that  moment's  indecision  he  shook  Carnew's 
hand  warmly,  and  wanted  to  conduct  him  at  once  to  one 
of  the  guest-chambers.  But  Alan  kindly  declined. 

"My  errand,"  he  said,  "is  too  important  and  too  un 
happy  to  allow  of  my  taking  any  rest  until  I  have  stated 
it.  I  have  come  " — a  sudden  flush  rushing  to  his  face — 
"  to  ask  you  some  questions  about  my  wife ;  to  ask  you 
to  tell  me  frankly  what  you  know  of  her  character.  What 
was  her  conduct  while  under  your  roof,  if  the  charges 
here  brought  against  her  "  —he  drew  out  of  his  pocket 
Mackay's  letters,  "  seem  likely  to  you  to  be  true  ? " 

And  he  put  the  packet  into  Edgar's  hand. 

"  Come  to  the  library,"  said  Edgar,  "  we  shall  be  more 
comfortable  there,"  and  he  led  the  way. 

Carnew,  in  a  fever  of  doubt,  fear,  and  expectation, 
watched  Edgar's  face  while  that  gentleman  slowly  read 
every  one  of  the  letters.  He  did  not  speak  when  he  had 
finished,  only  put  the  packet  aside,  and  looked  across  at 
the  haggard,  anxious  face  of  his  visitor. 

"Speak,"  implored  Carnew,  "what  weight  do  these 
letters  carry  to  you  ? " 

Edgar  answered  deliberately,  as  if  he  were  testing  his 
words : 

"  Let  me  tell  you  first  what  I  know  of  her  pertaining 
to  this  unfortunate  Mackay."  And  then  he  recounted  in 
in  the  same  deliberate  manner  how  he  had  received  his 
first  intimation  of  Ned's  secret  acquaintance  with  the 
gardener's  son,  by  one  day,  during  her  stay  in  Weewald 
Place,  meeting  a  servant  carrying  to  her  a  rare  exotic,  the 
gift  of  this  same  Mackay.  How  he  had  interrogated  his 


A   FATAL   KESEMBLANCE.  251 

daughter  Edna  npon  she  subject,  and  what  that  young 
lady  had  told  him  ;  and  lastly — most  damaging  statement 
of  all — what  Edna  had  told  him  of  their  secret  visit  to 
the  body  of  the  suicide  when  it  lay  on  the  grounds  of 
Rahandabed ;  how  Ned  had  gone  to  Edna  and  requested 
her  to  accompany  her. 

Carnew's  heart  seemed  turned  to  ice,  though  his  he:icl 
and  his  eyes  were  burning.  The  very  blood  in  his  veins 
seemed  to  have  frozen ;  he  found  himself  wondering  in  a 
vague,  incoherent  way  if  all  power  of  motion  had  gone 
from  him ;  but  the  summit  of  his  agony  was  reached ; 
with  a  low,  bitter  cry,  he  threw  his  head  forward  until  it 
rested  upon  the  table,  and  then  he  was  motionless. 

Edgar  rose  and  went  to  him.  He  put  his  hand  softly, 
tenderly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  said  with  tones  that 
trembled  from  emotion : 

"  Mr.  Carnew,  you  are  not  alone  in  suffering." 

Alan  raised  his  head  and  perhaps  seldom  did  two  more 
agonized  faces  gaze  at  each  other. 

Edgar  resumed : 

"  In  me  you  behold  a  man  who  has  carried  a  hidden 
agony  for  years.  A  horrid  doubt  was  engendered  for 
me  by  a  near  relative — a  doubt  that  cankered  all  iriy 
pleasures ;  a  doubt  that,  if  it  slumbered  for  a  little,  only 
awoke  to  gnaw  and  torment  me  with  new  vigor.  And 
so  it  continued  until  a  very  few  years  ago.  Then  I  did 
conquer  it,  and  I  was  happy.  In  the  love  of  my  beautiful 
child  alone  I  lived,  and  I  fancied  she  reciprocated  my 
affection.  I  imagined  her  devotion  to  be  such  that  she 
could  make  no  choice  of  a  husband  unless  first  assured 
that  he  would  meet  my  approval — I  who  would  have  sacri 
ficed  my  life  to  give  her  happiness ;  and  yet,  Carnew,  how 
am  I  rewarded  %  How  does  she  repay  my  love,  my  devo 
tion  ?  By  giving  her  hand  to  one  who  should  have  been 
almost  beneath  her  contempt — to  one  with  whose  im 
becility  I  was  disgusted." 

He  stopped,  as  if  overcome  by  his  emotions. 

"  And  yet  she  was  married  with  your  consent  ? "  broke 


252  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

from  Carnew,  interested,  despite  his  own  emotions,  in 
tliis  strange  recital  from  a  man  like  Edgar. 

"  Because  she  would  marry  him,  Carnew  ;  because  she 
dared  to  say  that  she  would  defy  my  opposition.  Brek- 
bellew  could  support  her  as  luxuriously  as  I  could  do,  and 
she  did  not  seem  to  care  for  anything  more.  To  save 
her,  and  to  save  myself  from  the  unpleasant  gossip  that 
would  ensue  did  I  refuse  my  consent  and  close  my  doors 
to  her,  I  yielded  ;  but  she  married  without  my  blessing, 
and  she  went  abroad  without  my  good  wishes.  You  cannot 
be  blind,  Carnew,  to  the  change  in  my  appearance.  The 
chords  of  my  heart  seem  snapped.  I  am  sick  of  life." 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

Both  were  silent  for  a  long  time ;  then  it  was  Edgar 
who  broke  it  by  rising  and  saying,  as  again  Ii3  crossed 
to  Carnew  and  placed  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder : 

"  We  can  sympathize  with  each  other ;  our  griefs  are 
akin  ;  you  have  an  unworthy  wife,  I  an  unworthy  child. 
In  both  cases,  the  proofs  are  too  plain  to  be  disputed,  to 
be  doubted,  and  it  only  remains  for  us  to  bear  our  sorrows 
with  what  fortitude  you  may." 

As  a  fellow-feeling  is  said  to  make  us  wrondrous  kind, 
so  the  fact  that  both  were  suffering  made  Edgar  sin 
gularly  tender ;  he  w^as  drawn  to  the  young  man,  as  if  he 
were  bound  by  some  tie  of  blood,  and  he  forgot  all  the 
feelings  which  had  been  engendered  by  Carnew's  for'mer 
refusal  of  Edna's  hand.  He  was  almost  impelled  to  repose 
full  confidence  in  him  ;  to  tell  what  the  horrid  doubt  had 
been  of  which  he  spoke  ;  and  to  lay  bare  the  thoughts  that 
Edna's  rebellious  marriage  had  awakened  in  his  mind ; 
how  th 3  very  obstinacy  and  even  temper  she  had  shown 
upon  that  occasion  had  recalled  to  her  father,  with  a 
pang  of  horror  and  dismay,  the  disposition  of  his  hated 
brother ;  never  had  the  character  of  the  latter  been  so 
reproduced,  possibly  because  never  had  his  beautiful 
daughter  so  boldly  exerted  her  own  headstrong  will. 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  253 

And  when  she  had  gone  from  Weewald  Place,  with  her 
brainless  husband,  he  had  shut  himself  up  to  give  full 
vent  to  his  dreadful  reflections.  Could  he,  after  all,  have 
been  mistaken  ?  Was  Edna  not  his  own,  but  poor,  de 
spised  Ned,  who,  because  of  her  very  position  in  his 
house,  might  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  her  secret  notice 
of  the  gardener's  son?  All  this  he  was  strangely  im 
pelled  to  tell,  and  to  tell  further,  that  again  his  feelings 
toward  Ned  had  been  changed  by  the  perusal  of  Mackay's 
letters.  His  daughter  could  not  be  guilty  of  such  duplicity  ; 
she  came  of  too  noble  a  race  ;  so  Ned,  since  the  proofs  of 
her  guilt  were  so  great,  must  be  his  brother's  child. 

But  lie  did  not  tell  this  to  Carnew.  Some  unaccount 
able  repugnance  to  open  his  sores  further  than  he  had 
already  done  kept  him  silent. 

There  was  nothing  to  restrain  Carnew  from  disclosing 
all  the  feelings  of  his  heart ;  he  felt  that  nowhere  could 
he  meet  with  so  sympathetic,  so  pitying  a  listener,  and  he 
told  everything :  his  doubts,  his  fears,  his  suspicions, 
before  his  marriage  ;  his  amazement,  his  agony,  his  horror 
since  ;  and  through  it  like  a  refrain  ran  the  confession 
that  under  all  circumstances  he  passionately  loved  Ned. 

"  But  everything  is  over  now,"  he  said  with  a  bitter  sad 
ness  ;  u  I  shall  settle  an  ample  amount  upon  her,  but  I  shall 
never  live  with  her  again." 

He  rose  then,  and  by  a  sort  of  tacit  consent,  though  he 
remained  over  night,  and  though  both  gentlemen  sat 
together  until  long  past  midnight,  neither  Ned  nor  Edna 
were  again  mentioned. 

He  left  early  on  the  following  morning,  being  in  fever 
ish  haste  to  confer  with  his  lawyer  on  the  subject  of  the 
settlement  for  his  wife  ;  he  thought  of  going  abroad  after 
that,  but  he  was  not  quite  decided. 

XLIY. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  Carnew's  departure 
from  Weewald  Place,  Dyke  arrived  there,  and  he  sent  up 


254:  A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

his  card  to  Mr.  Edgar.  That  gentleman  looked  very 
much  displeased  upon  receiving  it,  having  yet  fresh  in  his 
mind  the  story  of  Carnew,  in  which  the  latter  had  even 
confessed  his  jealousy  of  Mr.  Dutton,  and  remembering 
how  boldly,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  the  same  Mr. 
Button  had  spoken  to  himself,  it  was  hardly  strange  that 
he  felt  disinclined  to  accord  much  favor  to  him.  How 
ever,  he  descended  to  the  reception  room  where  Dyke 
waited,  and  bowed  with  his  wonted  courtesy,  as  he  re 
quested  to  know  the  object  of  the  visit. 

Dyke  paused  a  moment  to  steady  his  tones  ;  he  even 
spoke  with  more  than  his  usual  slowness,  that  his  feel 
ings  might  be  well  restrained. 

"  I  have  come  in  the  interest  of  Mrs.  Carnew,  to  ask 
you,  as  her  near  relative,  to  assist  in  proving  that  she  is 
innocent  of  charges  that  have  been  made  against  her; 
to " 

"  Stop ! "  interrupted  Edgar ;  it  will  probably  save  time 
to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Carnew  has  been  here.  He  came, 
like  you,  with  some  Hope  that  I  might  be  able  to  refute 
these  charges.  He  told  me  the  whole  story,  and  he  sub 
mitted  to  me  the  proofs  of  her  guilt  which  had  been  given 
to  him.  The  interests  of  truth  and  justice  demanded  that 
I  should  be  frank  in  telling  what  I  happened  to  know  of 
Mrs.  Carnew  ;  what  I  accidentally  learned  wrhile  she  was 
in  this  house,  what  I  heard  after  she  had  left  it." 

"  May  I  ask  what  these  tilings  were  \ " 

Dyke's  tones  were  very  slow  still. 

Edgar  warmed  a  little  while  he  answered  him,  while 
he  told  what  had  given  the  knell  to  Carnew's  hopes. 

The  young  man's  feelings  were  gaining  the  mastery, 
and  they  were  slipping  from  so  tight  a  rein,  that  they 
threatened  to  be  all  the  more  violent.  His  deliberate 
manner  of  speech  gave  sudden  way  to  a  rapid,  impas 
sioned  tone : 

"Has  it  never  occured  to  you,  Mr.  Edgar,  that  Mrs. 
Carnew  is  the  victim  of  a  very  web  of  calumny ;  a  web 
deliberately  woven  to  shield  another,  and  a  guilty  party  \ 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  255 

"No  doubt,  Mr.  Carnew  lias  told  you  how  his  wife  spoke 
of  an  oath  she  was  forced  to  take.  That,  to  a  clear  judg 
ment,  must  tell  its  own  story,  and  ought  to  bring  home  to 
you  at  least  a  desire  to  investigate  the  case." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir,"  broke  from  Edgar, 
flushed  and  perspiring  from  anger. 

"  Then  I  shall  make  my  meaning  clear.  Has  it  never 
occured  to  you,  as  it  has  occurred  to  me,  and  as  it  ought 
to  have  occurred  to  Mr.  Carnew,  that  Edna  Edgar,  now 
Mrs.  Brekbellew,  and  your  reputed  daughter,  may  be  the 
guilty  party,  the  wife,  married  in  secret  to  Mackay,  and 
the  mother  of  his  child  ? " 

Edgar  fairly  reeled  for  an  instant ;  then  he  caught  a 
chair,  and  steadying  himself  by  it,  responded  fiercely : 

"  Never !  " 

He  seemed  unable  to  say  more,  and  Dyke  resumed : 

''  Then  it  is  time  that  you  entertain  this  suspicion ;  it  is 
time  that  you  reflect— 

"  Cease !  "  thundered  Edgar  ;  and  his  manner  and  tones 
recalled  to  Dyke  how  he  had  once  before,  when  Dyke 
was  a  mere  lad,  spoken  to  him  in  just  such  a  manner. 
"  How  dare  you  make  such  an  insinuation  to  me,  her 
father!  Leave  this  house,  and  nevrer  again  presume  to 
enter  it.  Go  !  "  He  pointed  to  the  door. 

Dyke  did  not  move. 

"  I  shall  go,  Mr.  Edgar,  when  I  have  said  something 
more,  to  which  you.  must  listen.  You  have  no  absolute 
facts  upon  which  to  base  your  belief  that  Mrs.  Brekbel 
lew  is  actually  your  daughter,  and  what,  if  in  the  future, 
in  the  strange  dispensations  of  a  retributive  Providence, 
proofs  should  be  forthcoming  that  she  is  not  your  daugh 
ter,  but  that  she,  who  to-day  is  so  vilely  calumniated, 
whose  love  is  outraged,  whose  heart  is  broken,  is  your 
child,  what  in  such  a  time  will  be  your  feelings  ?  Look 
to  it,  that  retribution  in  that  shape  does  not  overtake  vou. 
Good-by." 

He  was  gone  before  Edgar  could  answer  a  word,  but 


256  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

he  had  put  a  barbed  arrow  into   that  proud,  quivering 
heart,  that  no  effort  could  draw  out. 

On  to  Rahandabed  was  Dyke's  next  proceeding  ;  on, 
to  force  Carnew  into  the  belief  that  he  himself  held  oi 
Ned's  innocence  ;  on,  to  wring  from  those  who  accused 
her  the  justice  they  would  not  give.  His  impatience 
could  scarcely  brook  any  delay,  and  allowing  himself  time 
for  neither  rest  nor  refreshment,  he  reached  C —  -  late 
that  same  night.  There  he  had  to  stop,  for  he  could 
scarcely  present  himself  in  Rahandabed  at  such  an  hour ; 
so  he  supped  and  lodged  in  the  hotel,  and  early  the  next 
morning  continued  his  journey. 

Carnew  had  not  breakfasted  when  Dyke  was  announced, 
and  the  servant  who  brought  up  his  name  told  it  to 
another  servant,  who  managed  to  convey  it  to  Mrs.  Dolo- 
ran's  maid,  who  gave  the  information  to  Mrs.  Doloran,  and 
that  lady,  driven  by  her  curiosity  into  unwonted  hardi 
hood,  actually  went  to  her  nephew's  suite  of  apartments, 
and  ensconced  herself  in  his  parlor,  in  order  that  she  might 
see  the  stranger  as  he  came  out  of  Carnew's  study  ;  her 
information  being  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Carnew  would 
receive  Mr.  Dutton  in  his  private  library. 

As  Carnew  had  been  surprised  at  the  change  in  Mr.  Ed 
gar,  so  was  Dutton  surprised  and  even  shocked  at  the 
change  in  Carnew.  Scarcely  more  than  two  months  before 
he  had  seen  the  young  man  in  the  full  bright  flush  of  a 
handsome,  vigorous  manhood  ;  now  he  beheld  him,  worn 
and  haggard,  as  if  weeks  of  illness  had  passed  over  him. 
The  change  softened  Dyke's  heart.  He  felt  that  it  was 
grief  for  .Ned  which  had  caused  it,  and  he  broached  his 
errand  kindly  and  even  tenderly.  But  Carnew  was  not 
disposed  to  be  softened ;  he  had  suffered  so  much  ;  he  was 
so  sore  from  the  accumulated  proofs  of  his  wife's  guilt, 
and,  more  than  all,  he  was  so  weak  from  the  struggle  that 
he  had  waged  with  himself  all  the  preceding  night  to 
cast  her  entirely  out  of  his  heart,  and  in  which  he  fan 
cied  he  had  succeeded,  that  he  was  not  inclined  to  receive 
Dyke  in  any  friendly  spirit.  Further,  his  unreasonable 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.,  257 

jealousy  made  him  regard  his  visitor  as  one  who  would 
even  perjure  himself  in  the  interest  of  Ned.  With  such 
feelings  he  was  not  stirred  to  pity,  as  he  saw  the  prema 
ture  age  and  suffering  in  Dyke's  appearance,  and  with 
coldest  courtesy"  he  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  and  seating 
himself  opposite,  listened  politely,  but  that  was  all. 

Dyke  told  his  story  with  simple  brevity  :  what  he  knew 
of  the  character  of  the  two  Ednas  when  they  were  chil 
dren,  and  his  suspicions. 

Not  a  muscle  of  Carnew's  face  moved,  and  he  answered 
a  little  wearily : 

"  This  is  absurd  on  your  part,  Mr.  Dutton,  and  prepos 
terous  as  well,  that  you  should,  in  the  face  of  the  clearest 
evidence  against  Mrs.  Carnew,  attempt  to  fasten  the 
charges  upon  Mrs.  Brekbellew.  In  the  first  place,  if  the 
latter  had  the  cleverness  for  such  a  course  of  deceit,  there 
would  not  be  wanting  times  and  circumstances,  during 
such  a  protracted  period,  of  betraying  herself  in  some 
manner.  Your  supposition  is  most  illogical." 

He  warmed  a  little  as  he  continued  : 

"  There  is  hardly  a  link  wanting  in  the  evidence  against 
Mrs.  Carnew  ;  her  very  visit,  ostensibly  to  Albany,  made  at 
the  very  time  this  child  was  born,  is  a  most  significant 
circumstance." 

It  was  Dyke's  turn  to  fire  up,  and  he  answered  in 
dignantly  : 

"  Mrs.  Carnew's  visit  was  made  to  Albany  at  the  time  of 
which  you  speak." 

"  Was  it  ?  "  spoken  coldly,  for  here  was  an  opportunity 
for  Dyke  to  assert  what  was  untrue,  in  order  to  serve 
Ned  ;  and  the  same  cold  voice  continued  : 

"  Can  you  prove  it  ?    Were  you  there  at  the  time  ? " 

"No;  I  was  not  there  at  the  time;  but  I  can  prove 
that  she  was  there  and "  he  stopped  suddenly,  re 
membering  his  little  means  of  proof ;  Meg  remembered 
nothing  of  the  visit ;  her  relatives  were  on  their  way  to 
Australia,  and  he  could  not  even  write  to  them  until  he 
should  receive  their  letter. 


258  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Carnew  smiled  grimly  at  the  sudden  break  in  the  hotly 
spoken  speech,  and  he  said  with  an  unmistakable  decision 
as  he  rose  : 

"  It  is  no  use,  Mr.  Dutton  ;  we  cannot  banish  nor  dis 
pute  the  facts  which  stamp  Mrs.  Carnew  as  being,  when  I 
married  her,  the  widow  of  Mackay,  and  the  mother  of  his 
child.  As  such,  she  ceases  to  be  my  wife.  I  shall  go  to 
New  York  to-day  in  order  to  have  settled  upon  her  a  suffi 
cient  annual  sum,  and  then,  I  shall  forget  her." 

Dyke  could  not  control  himself  ;  he  also  rose. 

"  Since  she  ceases  to  be  your  wife,  she  shall  also  cease 
to  be  dependent  upon  your  support.  Discarded  wife 
though  she  may  be,  she  is  not  without  friends,  Mr. 
Carnew." 

The  indignant,  defiant  speech  roused  Alan's  hot,  jealous 
blood,  and  he  answered  with  a  bitter  sarcasm  : 

"  No  doubt,  since  she  has  your  home  and  your  heart" 
with  a  taunting  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  "to  rush  to, 
when  she  flees  from  her  husband's  protection." 

"  Say  but  another  word  like  that,  Mr.  Carnew,  and  I 
shall  forget  that  you  are  her  husband."  Dyke  advanced 
threateningly,  the  blood  firing  his  cheeks ;  but  Alan  did 
not  move,  nor  did  the  expression  of  his  fac3  change. 

"  Your  wife  is  as  pure  as  the  snow  when  it  falls,"  Dyke 
continued  passionately ;  "  and  that  even  you,  whose  trust 
in  her  should  have  been  great  enough  to  shield  her  in  the 
face  of  every  accusation,  could  have  no  taunt  to  throw  at 
her,  I  left  my  home  within  two  hours  after  she  had  entered 
it.  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  nor  shall  I  return  to  her 
while  she  claims  its  shelter.  But,  as  I  hold  a  brother's 
right  to  her,  I  can  work  for  her  support.  I  did  it  before, 
and  now  that  she  is  wronged,  calumniated,  discarded  ;  that 
you,  her  husband,  refuse  to  believe  her,  it  will  be  my 
duty,  more  than  ever,  to  provide  for  her." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  admire  the  young  man ;  he 
seemed  so  noble,  so  brave,  so  true,  and  even  Carnew  felt 
u  brief  involuntary  admiration  and  respect ;  but  after  that, 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  259 

his  old  feelings  returned,  and  lie  answered  with  his  former 
coldness : 

"  Mrs.  Carnew  can  do  as  she  chooses  about  using  her 
allowance,  it  shall  be  made  regardless  of  her  feeling  in 
the  matter."  He  rang  for  a  servant  to  escort  Dyke  out, 
and  he  waited  until  the  servant  came,  and  Button  with  a 
brief,  "  good  morning,"  had  departed. 

Mrs.  Doloran  had  an  excellent  view  of  him  as  he  passed 
out,  and  she  was  still  surveying  the  door  through  which 
he  had  gone,  when  Alan  came  from  the  study  into  her 
presence.  He  started  when  he  saw  her,  and  then  he 
colored  with  resentment  at  her  intrusion. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  unannounced  visit  ? " 
he  asked  sternly. 

"Now,  Alan,  none  of  your  tragics,"  by  which  she 
meant  that  her  nephew  was  not  to  show  any  indignation. 
"  I  am  going  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  way  you're  act 
ing.  You  haven't  let  me  know  a  word  about  Ned — 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  he  interrupted ;  "  you  settled  her  fate 
by  declaring  that  she  should  never  enter  Rahandabed 
again." 

"  And  you  have  really  sent  her  off — you  dear,  good, 
sensible  boy." 

"No,  I  did  not  send  her  off.  She  went  herself,"  be 
coming  petulant. 

"  I  know  she  went  herself  ;  but  you  have  sent  her  word 
that  she  is  never  to  come  back  ;  that  you  will  never  re 
ceive  her  again  as  your  wife  ? " 

He  bent  his  most  stern  and  piercing  look  upon  her. 

"How  much  of  my  conversation  in  that  room,"  point 
ing  to  his  library,  u  have  you  heard  ?  " 

She  pretended  to  be  indignant. 

"  Not  a  word.  Do  you  suppose  I  came  here  to  listen 
to  your  private  conference  ?  I  came  here  to  know  what 
you  mean  by  shutting  yourself  away  from  everybody  since 
Ned's  flight,  and  where  you  went  the  day  before  yesterday, 
when  you  took  that  journey,  and  who  that  man  is,  calling 
upon  you  so  early  this  morning  ?  You  are  just  involving 


260  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

the  whole  house  in  mystery,  and  treating  me,  your  aunt, 
shamefully." 

"  Then  I  must  continue  to  treat  you,  my  aunt,  shame 
fully,  for  I  shall  satisfy  your  curiosity  no  further  than  to 
say,  that  I  did  not  send  word  to  my  wife  that  I  would  n  >t 
receive  her  again.  As  I  have  not  yet  breakfasted,  you 
will  please  excuse  me." 

He  left  the  room.  His  aunt  was  furious  with  disap 
pointment.  She  had  not  gained  an  iota  of  the  information 
for  which  she  had  come,  but  she  consoled  herself  by  re 
porting  to  the  guests  that  word  had  been  sent  to  ]STed  never 
to  return  to  Rahandabed ;  her  husband  would  under  no 
circumstances  ever  receive  her  again. 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  she  was  thrown  into  further  dis 
may  by  the  announcement  from  Ordotte  that  he  was  going 
abroad ;  he  would  leave  Rahandabed  that  very  evening, 
in  order  to  secure  an  early  passage  to  England.  Her  sur 
prise  and  her  regret  were  so  genuine,  that  she  forgot  to 
indulge  in  the  hysterics  with  which  she  usually  received 
unpleasant  announcements.  Instead,  she  held  up  her 
hands,  and  continued  to  gaze  at  the  speaker  in  a  sort  of 
speechless  horror.  Ordotte  laughed  a  little  at  the  spectacle 
she  presented ;  then  he  composed  his  face,  took  her  up 
lifted  hands  within  his  own,  and  led  her  gently  to  a  seat, 
where  he  bent  over  her  and  said  very  softly : 

"  My  going  away  has  to  do  with  a  secret ;  with  a  mys 
tery,  in  which  even  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Doloran,  may  find 
yourself  some  what  involved.  But  you  must  not  reveal 
this  to  a  soul ;  you  must  not  even  tell  that  I  have  gone 
anywhere  but  to  England  for  a  few  weeks ;  whereas,  I  am 
really  going  to  India  after  I  leave  England.  But  I  shall 
not  be  absent  more  than  a  few  months.  Next  winter  will 
see  me  here  again,  and  with  such  a  sensation  as  shall  make 
Rahandabed  famous  for  generations." 

The  lady's  dismay  had  vanished ;  delighted  interest  had 
taken  its  place. 

u  Can  it  be  possible,  Mascar?  "  she  said.  "  How  novel, 
how  beautiful !  But  why  may  not  Alan  and  myself  ac- 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  261 

company  you  ?     In  the  present  state  of  his  feelings,  this 
journey  would  be  the  very  thing  for  him." 

The  tawny  face  affected  to  be  distorted  with  horror. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Doloran,  were  any  one  to  accompany  me. 
it  would  prevent  forever  the  unravelling  of  the  mystery. 
Do  you  not  remember  what  I  told  you  of  those  strange 
people  in  India  who  can  leave  their  bodies  in  one  place, 
and  stalk  forth  in  a  visible  spirit  to  a  great  distance  ? 
"Well,  I  mean  to  visit  one  of  those  ;  having  lived  as  long 
in  the  country  as  I  did,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  some 
of  these  people,  and  to  good  purpose,  for  the  acquaint 
anceship  will  serve  me  vastly  now.  But,  were  I  to  go 
accompanied,  they  would  refuse  to  cast  any  spell  for  me, 
and  my  journey  would  be  in  vain." 

"  But  we  need  not  accompany  you  just  there,"  persisted 
the  lady  ;  "  we  could  even  remain  in  England  until  your 
return." 

Ordotte  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  a  task  to  do  in  England  which  necessitates  my 
going  alone.  I  regret  that  it  should  be  so,  as  much  as  you 
do,  my  dear  Mrs.  .Doloran,  and  nothing  but  the  fact  that 
I  am  about  to  unravel  a  tremendous  mystery  sustains  me 
in  my  effort  to  tear  myself  from  Rahandabed." 

"  Tell  me  the  mystery,"  demanded  the  lady 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  kill  myself  ?  "  he  answered,  assum 
ing  a  passion  that  somewhat  frightened  his  companion. 
"  Ishould  have  to  do  so  if  I  breathed  a  word  of  this  awful 
mystery;"  with  an  awful  emphasis"*on  the  next  to  the 
last  word,  "  and  I  have  only  told  it  to  you,  that  you  would 
sympathize  with  n«fy  anxiety,"  changing  his  manner  to 
one  of  sorrowful  tenderness,  "that  you  would  wish  me 
good  speed  on  my  journey,  that —  '  his  voice  became 
very  tender —  "  you  would  cherish  my  memory  during 
my  absence  ;  not  that  you  would  harrow  my  soul  by  wish 
ing  to  accompany  me  when  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
consent." 

He  drew  back  a  little,  and  looked  the  picture  of  dejec 
tion. 


262  „  A     FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

The  lady  was  touched,  as  slie  always  was  wlien  Ordotte 
seemed  to  be  affected. 

"  O  Mascar !  wliy  accuse  me  ?  I  never  meant  to  liar- 
row  you — you  know  I  love — I  think  too  much  of  you— 

I "  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  hysterical 

sob. 

Ordotte  came  back  to  her,  and  dropped  on  his  knees  at 
her  feet. 

"  Cease  to  weep,  my  dear  Mrs.  Doloran  ;  I  believe  you, 
and  I  know  the  depth,  the  sincerity  of  your  friendship 
for  me  "-—he  always  studiously  avoided  the  word  affec 
tion — u  and  I  know  that  though  my  stay  abroad  should 
extend  to  six  months,  your  friendly  feelings  will  not 
diminish  ;  the  hospitable  doors  of  Rahandabed  will  not  be 
closed  to  me."- 

"  Never,  Mascar,  never ;  I  am  mistress "  here,  and  you 
shall  always  be  received  with  open  arms." 

And,  as  if  she  would  exemplify  her  words,  she  opened  her 
own  arms  and  seemed  about  to  fold  them  round  the  kneel 
ing  gentleman,  but  he  evaded  her  endeavor  in  some  sly, 
skilful  way  of  his  own ;  and  then  being  certain  that  he 
had  paciiied  her,  and  quite  reconciled  her  to  his  solitary 
departure,  he  seated  himself  beside  her,  and  began  to  dis 
cuss  the  probable  length  of  his  journey. 

"When  the  hour  of  his  departure  came,  Mrs.  Doloran 
would  accompany  him  to  the  station,  and  what  was  her 
surprise  to  see  her  nephew  there ;  he  had  just  stepped 
from  his  carriage,  and  was  giving  some  order  to  Macgil- 
ivray.  Regardless  of  all  propriety,  she  leaned  from  her 
own  conveyance,  and  called  to  him. 

He  was  obliged  to  go  to  her,  but  he  bit  his  lip  with 
vexation  ;  he  had  the  strongest  objection  to  being  ques 
tioned  on  his  intended  journey — an  objection  that  was  not 
lessened  as  he  caught  sight  of  Ordotte's  face. 

But  Mrs.  Doloran  for  once  was  not  so  anxious  to  seek 
information  as  to  give  it.  She  began  with  impressive 
volubility : 

"  How  strange  and  how  delightful ;  both  of  you  going 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  203 

to  New  York  ;  and  when  I  tell  you,  Alan,  that  Mascar 
is  going  away  for  the  purpose  of  unravelling  a  mystery, 

an  awful "  she  stopped  short  and  suddenly,  for  the 

gentleman  she  had  mentioned,  finding  no  other  way  to 
remind  her  of  her  promise  of  secrecy,  brought  his  foot 
heavily  down  upon  her  own ;  but  even  that  did  not  im 
prove  her  memory ;  it  only  extorted  from  her  an — 

"  O-o-o-oh !  Mascar,  you  were  very  awkward  just 
then.  You  have  hurt  my  foot  dreadfully,"  and  then  she 
went  on  with  all  that  she  knew  of  the  motives  for  Mas- 
car's  journey,  while  he,  with  a  most  expressively  amused 
look,  muttered  something  about  attending  himself  to  his 

ticket,  instead  of  allowing  the  footman  to  do  it,  and  left 
r    , 

the  carriage. 

Mrs.  Doloran,  in  the  full  tide  of  her  account,  did  not 
oppose  him,  as  she  would  have  done  at  another  time. 

"Isn't  it  all  very  wonderful,  Alan?"  she  still  continued, 
when  she  had  repeated  every  word  that  had  passed  be 
tween  Ordotte  and  herself ;  "  and  if  he  could  only  have 
taken  you  and  me,  as  I  wanted  him  to  do." 

"I  should  certainly  have  declined  the  privilege  of 
accompanying  him,  if  he  had  consented,"  -returned  Alan 
ironically. 

"  Then  may  I  ask  where  you  are  going  now  \ "  she 
retorted  angrily. 

"  As  you  have  already  guessed,  to  New  York." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  there  ?  "  she  questioned 
in  the  same  angry  tone. 

"  Nothing  that  concerns  you" 

And  after  that  there  was  no  further  time  for  conversa 
tion,  for  the  train  was  in  sight,  and  all  of  Mrs.  Doloran's 
feelings  were  absorbed  in  her  parting  with  Ordotte.  She 
cried  upon  his  shoulder  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  pre 
vent  her,  and  she  even  managed  to  get  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  from  which  embrace  he  was  obliged  to  use  vio 
lence  to  release  himself,  or  he  would  have  missed  the 
train.  And  all  the  way  home  she  cried  to  herself ; 
being  alone  in  the  carriage,  there  was  no  one  to  help  her 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

if  she  went  into  hysterics.  But  she  soliloquized  upon  her 
aggravated  trials,  how  unprotected  she  was  left,  Mascar 
and  her  nephew  both  gone  ;  and  then  she  called  her 
nephew  a  brute,  and  otherwise  stigmatized  his  treatment 
of  her.  She  did  not  dream  that  his  treatment  of  her  was 
due  to  her  own  harsh  judgment  of  Ned.  Had  she  ex 
pressed  one  pitying  word  for  Mrs.  Carnew,  had  she 
uttered  one  doubt  of  her  guilt,  Alan  would  have  gone  on 
his  knees  to  serve  her  ;  but  the  more  severe  she  grew  to 
the  discarded  wife,  the  more  the  young  husband  felt  like 
being  cold  and  insolent  to  her. 

Promises  witli  Mrs.  Doloran  were  most  unstable  things. 
She  kept  one  only  so  long  as  it  suited  her ;  and  thus  it 
was  with  the  promise  of  secrecy  which  Ordotte  had  exacted 
from  her.  No  sooner  had  she  returned  to  Eahandabed, 
than  all  the  guests  were  regaled  with  the  mysterious  ob 
ject  of  Ordotte's  journey.  And  by  that  time,  her  imagi 
nation  having  had  time  to  work,  her  account  was  so  mys 
terious  it  would  have  puzzled  Ordotte  to  recognize  even 
the  bare  elements  of  that  which  he  had  said  to  her. 


XLY. 

On  the  train,  Carnew  selected  the  most  retired  seat  he 
could  find,  even  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes  in  order 
to  signify  more  unmistakably  his  desire  for  his  own  com 
panionship.  But  as  he  neared  New  York,  he  felt  some 
one  drop  into  the  vacant  seat  beside  him ;  even  then  he 
did  not  remove  his  hat,  nor  make  any  motion,  not  until  a 
familiar  voice  pronounced  his  name.  He  looked  up  to 
meet  the  tawny,  smiling  face  of  Ordotte. 

"  Pardon  my  intrusion,"  he  said  in  his  cool,  easy  man 
ner,  "  I  have  not  done  so,  you  see,  until  the  last  moment ; 
and  I  would  not  do  so,  only  to  clear  some  undefined  no 
tions  about  my  journey  which  your  aunt  may  have  left 
in  your  mind." 

Carnew  roused  himself  a  little. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  265 

"  I  really  have  not  given  myself  a  thought  about  your 
journey.  I  scarcely  heard  what  my  aunt  said." 

"  Then  so  much  the  easier  to  explain  myself,"  with  a 
manner  that  was  proof  against  any  rebuff.  "  You  see, 
my  dear  fellow,  when  I  bound  Mrs.  Doloran  to  secrecy, 
I  did  it  knowing  perfectly  well  she  would  repeat  every 
thing  I  said  to  her,  just  as  she  did  to  you,  despite  my 
painful  reminder  of  stepping  on  her  foot.  And  when 
you  return  to  Rahandabed,  you  will  find  upon  all  sides  of 
you  such  a  version  of  the  mysterious  causes  which  led 
to  my  journey  that  you  will  ha  -dly  recognize  me,  or  your 
worthy  aunt.  In  order,  then,  to  clear  up  beforehand 
these  mysteries  that  await  you " 

Carnew  interrupted  him. 

"I  assure  you,  Mr.  Ordotte,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
interest  in  anything  you  mention.  I  must  beg  to  be  ex 
cused  from  listening  any  longer." 

Once  more  he  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  leaned 
back  in  his  seat. 

Ordotte  leaned  over  him  and  whispered,  if  that  could 
be  called  a  whisper  which  had  to  be  spoken  loud  enough 
to  drown  the  noise  of  the  cars : 

"  "Will  you  make  me  the  same  reply  when  I  say  that 
you  are  most  deeply  concerned  in  this  mystery  I  am  going 
to  have  explained  ? " 

Carnew  sat  bolt  upright. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir." 

"Nor  can  I  explain  myself  further;  but  that  perhaps 
is  sufficient  to  win  me  your  attention  for  a  few  minutes." 

Carnew  looked  cold  and  haughty  still,  but  he  did  not 
make  any  attempt  to  relapse  into  his  former  position,  and 
Ordotte  continued,  with  an  expression  of  face  not  at  all 
in  accord  with  the  serious  words  he  was  saying ;  but  that 
was  his  ruse  to  make  the  people  about  him  think  he  was 
only  holding  a  light  and  bantering  conversation. 

"  You  have  never  given  me  much  friendship,  Carnew, 
and  you  have  done  your  best  to  make  my  stay  short  in 
Rahandabed.  You  have  been  most  dissatisfied  and  worried 


266  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

about  your  aunt's  •  preference  for  me,  fearing  that  she 
might  do  the  desperate  thing  of  marrying  me  ;  not  that 
you  would  lose  anything  by  her  marriage,  but  because 
you  did  not  want  the  family  disgraced  by  her  union  with 
such  an  Indian  mountebank  as  you  regarded  me.  Nay, 
don't  disclaim  my  assertion  yet ;  I  have  not  finished,"  as 
he  saw  Carnew  about  to  speak ;  but  the  latter  would  in 
terrupt  with : 

"  Instead  of  being  about  to  disclaim  your  assertion,  I 
was  going  to  say  that  you  certainly  had  read  correctly  my 
feelings  toward  you." ' 

Ordotte  laughed  so  that  his  exquisitely  white  teeth 
were  quite  visible  for  a  moment,  and  resumed  : 

"  Well,  I  am  leaving  Rahandabed  now,  without  hav 
ing  married  your  wortny  aunt,  and  if  it  be  decreed  that  I 
should  never  return,  then  will  be  dashed  for  you  one  of 
those  singular  joys  which  only  come  once  in  several 
generations.  I  have  watched  you,  young  man,  as  I  watch 
everybody  with  whom  it  is  my  lot  to  be  thrown,  and 
despite  your  unfriendly  feelings  toward  me,  I  have  liked 
you.  Not  knowing  that  I  should  meet  you  on  the  train, 
I  had  some  intention  of  seeing  you  privately  before  I  left 
Rahandabed,  in  order  that  I  might  say  a  little  of  what  I 
have  just  now  stated ;  but  your  good  and  worthy  aunt 
really  left  me  no  opportunity.  Come  now;  are  we 
friends?" 

He  laughed  again,  as  if  he  had  been  telling  a  good  story, 
and  had  with  an  effort  restrained  his  mirth  until  it  was 
finished.  And  he  did  not  give  Carnew  time  to  reply, 
for  he  resumed  immediately  that  his  laugh  had  gone 
back  to  a  smile  : 

"Do  not  take  the  trouble  to  protest  your  suddenly 
acquired  friendship  for  me,  nor  to  display  your  penitence 
for  your  treatment  of  me  in  the  past.  I  should  be  over 
come  if  you  did ;  but  think  of  me  as  one  who  has  gone 
abroad  in  your  interest ;  and  should  success  reward  me 
and  enable  me  to  restore  to  you  something  that  you  now 
deem  lost  forever,  why  then  overwhelm  me  with  your 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  267 

contrition  and  your  friendship.  Until  the  arrival  of  that 
time,  farewell ! " 

He  glided  away  before  Carnew  could  stop  him  by  word 
or  motion,  and  as  the  train  was  just  then  rushing  into  its 
destination,  he  was  not  able,  in  the  bustle  that  ensued, 
to  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  him. 

The  young  man  regarded  it  all  as  the  senseless  vagaries 
of  a  man  who,  now  that  he  was  leaving  Rahandabed, 
wished  to  create  in  his  favor  a  diversion  on  the  part  of 
one  whose  dislike  he  had  so  clearly  read.  What  could  he, 
a  foreign  stranger,  do  toward  restoring  that  suddenly  van 
ished  happiness  ?  Oh,  no ;  the  mysterious  innuendo  was 
of  a  piece  with  the  singular  conversations  in  which  Ordotte 
always  indulged,  and  that  so  easily  won  foolish,  credu 
lous  Mrs.  Dolorari.  For  him  they  had  neither  truth  nor 
charm,  and  his  lip  curled  with  scorn  as  he  reflected  upon 
the  recent  attempt  to  enlist  his  interest  and  curiosity. 
Even  the  suspicion  that  he  once  had  of  Ordotte's  secret 
knowledge  of  something  pertaining  to  Ned,  and  that  now 
recurred  to  him,  no  longer  affected  him. 

His  mind  was  irrevocably  made  up.  Ned  was  guilty 
beyond  the  merest  shadow  of  a  doubt,  and  doubly  so 
since  she  had  chosen  to  desert  him  and  flee  to  the  protec 
tion  of  Dyke ;  and  with  an  inflexible  will  he  executed  his 
plan  of  the  settlement  for  her.  But  when  it  was  all  con 
cluded  ;  when  he  had  signed  his  name  to  the  last  of  the 
documents  required  in  the  case ;  when  he  knew  that  the 
cold,  hard  legal  announcement,  unaccompanied  by  any 
softening  word  from  himself,  would  go  to  Ned — a  strange 
film  came  over  his  eyes,  that  made  him  hasten  his  adieu 
to  the  lawyer,  and  almost  stagger  forth  into  the  sunshine. 
After  that,  he  tried  to  mature  his  plan  of  going  abroad, 
but  it  was  useless.  Every  impulse  of  his  heart  pleaded  for 
a  return  to  Rahandabed,  and  he  tried  to  excuse  his  in 
decision  by  thinking  that  his  presence  was  necessary  to 
protect  his  aunt  from  being  victimized  by  her  own  follies  ; 
but  that  was  only  a  species  of  self-deception  too  flimsy 
for  even  his  wilfully  obscured  vision  ;  for  he  knew  that 


268  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

the  secret  and  all  powerful  motive  was  the  fact  that 
Rahandabed  was  redolent  of  Ned's  presence,  and  not 
after  all  at  such  a  great  distance  from  her;  to  go  abroad 
would  place  thousands  of  miles  between  them.  So  back 
to  Rahandabed  he  went,  leading  a  more  secluded  life 
than  ever,  with  his  books  and  his  solitary  rides  that  always 
took  the  direction  of  Ned's  mountain  home,  and  daily  in 
creasing  in  petulance  and  irony  to  Mrs.  Doloran. 

Ned  had  received  at  last  the  anxiously  looked-for  letter 
from  Dyke  ;  every  day,  since  his  departure  the  hired  man 
had  gone  down  to  the  post-office  in  Saugerties,  but  only 
to  return  empty-handed  until  Dyke  had  been  gone  live 
days. 

Then  he  bore  a  packet  with  the  well-known  superscrip 
tion.  She  tore  it  open,  and  read : 

"  DEAR  NED  : — My  news  is  so  unsatisfactory  that  I  have 
scarcely  the  heart  to  write.  Still,  into  the  blackest  dark 
ness  may  come,  when  we  least  expect  it,  a  streak  of  light, 
and  I  feel  that  it  will  be  so  in  your  case.  My  little  plan 
in  your  behalf  has  quite  failed.  I  thought  perhaps  to  learn 
from  somebody  something  that  would  cast  a  doubt  011 
these  cruel  charges  ;  but  I  have  learned  only  that  your 
husband  intends  to  settle  upon  you  a  large  amount  yearly. 
Use  your  own  judgment  about  accepting  it,  but  remem 
ber,  dear  Ned,  that  if  your  heart  should  shrink  from 
taking  any  support  from  one  whose  trust  has  turned  to 
doubt,  my  home  is  yours  as  it  used  to  be  in  your  child 
hood,  and  my  means  are  ample  for  your  support.  Nor 
need  you  hesitate  to  accept  what  I  offer,  through  a  proud 
fear  of  being  dependent,  for,  my  business  demanding  my 
constant  presence  in  New  York,  with  whom  could  I  trust 
poor,  dear  old  Meg  ?  Anne  McCabe  is  good,  it  is  true, 
but  in  dear  Meg's  present  state,  it  would  make  me  very 
anxious  to  know  that  there  was  only  Anne  McCabe  with 
her.  So  you  see,  dear  Ned,  what  a  charity  will  be  your 
acceptance,  at  least  for  the  present,  of  the  proposition  1 
submit ;  that  is,  in  case  you  think  it  better  to  refuse  your 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

husband's  offer.      But  even  should  you  accept  the  latter, 
your  present  home  can  continue  to  be  such,  can  it  not  ? 

"I  shall  be  unable  to  return  to  you,  as  I  resume  busi 
ness  to-morrow,  but  you  shall  hear  from  me  often,  and 
now,  dear  Xed,  no  matter  what  occurs,  do  not  lose  heart 
nor  hope.  Remember  that  the  clouds  cannot  always 
lower,  and  that  your  innocence,  and  trust  in  Heaven,  will 
win  at  last  the  reward  that  Heaven  alone  can  give. 

«  Yours, 

"  DYKE." 

He  had  been  very  careful  not  to  say  of  whom  he  had 
tried  to  learn  something  that  might  cast  a  doubt  on  the  cruel 
charges ;  not  to  hint  that  he  had  called  upon  Mr.  Edgar 
and  upon  her  husband,  and  not  to  intimate  that  his  sudden 
and  premature  return  to  business  was  due  to  his  resolu 
tion  to  keep  away  from  his  home  while  it  sheltered  Mrs. 
Carnew. 

And  none  of  these  things  dawned  upon  her  mind  as  she 
read  the  letter ;  nothing  but  the  desolate  fact  that  her 
husband  had  indeed  repudiated  her,  when  he  intended  to 
make  a  settlement  upon  her ;  in  her  misery  she  never 
questioned  what  Dyke's  plan  had  been,  and  though  she 
recognized  his  noble  soul  in  the  gentle,  generous,  and  deli 
cate  wording  of  his  letter,  still  it  took  nothing  from  her 
wretchedness.  She  went  to  her  room  and  sobbed  over  the 
letter,  until  its  neatly  written  page  was  a  mass  of  blisters. 

That  same  evening,  when  she  had  begun  her  answer  to 
Dyke,  thanking  him  for  his  offer  and  accepting  it,  since 
she  could  be  useful  to  dear  old  Meg,  one  of  the  neighbors, 
who  lived  a  little  further  down  the  mountain,  and  who 
had  been  to  Saugerties  that  afternoon,  brought  up  another 
letter  addressed  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  in  the  care  of  Mr. 
Dykard  Duttoii.  It  was  the  letter  from  the  lawyer,  an 
nouncing  the  settlement  that  her  husband  had  made  upon 
her.  Not  a  word  from  Carnew.  Just  a  few  brief,  legal 
lines,  and  nothing  more.  Her  old  temper  rose,  and,  for 
the  time,  indignation  supplanted  every  other  feeling.  He 


270  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

might  at  least  have  sent  one  kindly  word.  She  was  con 
vinced  that,  if  an  hundred  such  charges  had  been  brought 
a  >-ainst  him,  she  would  not  have  doubted,  and  with  that 
iiery  spirit  still  sustaining  her,  she  pushed  aside  her  half- 
written  letter  to  Dyke,  and  wrote  to  her  husband : 

"  MB.  CARNEW  :• — Since  you  evidently  consider  our  mar 
ried  relations  sundered,  I  cannot  accept  the  settlement 
you  have  made.  I  do  not  need,  nor  shall  I  touch  one  cent 
of  the  amount. 

«  NED." 

She  was  determined  to  be  as  brief  and  cold  as  possible, 
and  she  swallowed  the  gulp  in  her  throat,  and  brushed  the 
film  from  her  eyes,  resolved  to  give  way  no  more  to  her 
unhappy  feelings.  But  that  was  so  easy  to  resolve,  and 
so  hard  to  do  ;  when  her  letters  were  finished,  and  ad 
dressed  and  sealed,  and  she  retired  to  the  darkness  and 
solitude  of  her  own  little  room,  where  Carnew's  image 
came  tender  and  trusting  as  he  once  was,  and  the  dreary 
future  spread  before  her,  in  which,  perhaps,  she  was  to 
know  him  no  more  forever,  her  fortitude  again  gave  way, 
and  the  pillow  upon  which  she  rested  her  head  was 
saturated  with  her  tears. 

Was  there  no  way  out  of  this  horrible  blank,  nothing 
which  she  could  do  to  help  herself  ?  Yes,  there  was  some 
thing  ;  something  of  which  she  had  thought  before,  but 
had  not  done.  She  could  write  to  Mrs.  Brekbellew, 
making  her  appeal  so  strong  that  a  heart  of  stone  must  be 
touched  by  it.  But  then  came  the  thought,  would  Mrs. 
Brekbellew  be  willing  to  take  any  steps  in  Ned's  behalf, 
when  so  doing  must  expose  herself?  "But  why  should 
I  suffer  so  bitterly  when  she  is  the  guilty  one  ? "  moaned 
Ned. 

"  And  her  husband  may  not  think  it  so  dreadful  if  the 
story  comes  to  him  from  her  own  lips.  At  all  events,  it 
is  her  duty  to  clear  me  ;  to  release  me  from  my  oath. 
To-morrow  I  shall  write  to  her  father  for  her  address." 

And  on  the  morrow  she  did  so,  a  brief,  polite  note,  con- 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  271 

taining  no  more  than  the  request  for  Mrs.  Brekbellew's 
foreign  address. 

The  three  letters  went  forth  together,  the  hired  man 
starting  early  with  them  in  order  to  be  in  time  for  the  first 
mail  from  Saugerties. 

Mr.  Edgar  received  his  first,  and  he  smiled  a  little 
scornfully,  wondering  if  the  note  was  of  Dyke's  prompt 
ing,  remembering  the  latter's  insinuations  against  Mrs. 
Brekbellew,  and  what  he  or  Ned  could  expect  to  gain  by 
writing  to  his  daughter.  However,  he  answered  it,  but 
saying  respectfully  and  briefly  that,  as  Mrs.  Brekbellew 
was  travelling  upon  the  continent,  preparatory  to  an  ex 
tended  stay  in  London,  he  could  not  give  her  exact  ad 
dress  ;  but  any  letter  addressed  for  her,  to  "  Brekbellew 
&  Hepburn,  Strand,  London,"  would  be  forwarded  to  her. 

A  little  later  in  the  day,  Carnew  received  Ned's  com 
munication.  He  was  indignant  at  her  rejection  of  his 
settlement,  and  divining  that  her  independence  was  due 
to  Dyke,  he  was  more  violently  inflamed  than  ever  against 
that  individual.  He  tore  the  little  note  into  pieces,  and 
flung  them  into  a  large  empty  vase  that  rested  against  one 
side  of  the  fire  place.  He  would  not  answer  it,  and  the 
settlement  should  remain. 

The  day  after,  Dyke  received  his  reply,  and  when  he 
had  read  it,  he  put  it  away  with  a  sort  of  sad  satisfaction ; 
he  was  glad  that  Ned  had  refused  the  settlement,  and  it 
was  a  joy  for  him  to  work  for  her ;  but  he  wished  that  he 
could  entertain  a  little  less  bitter  feeling  for  Carnew.  As 
it  wras,  he  almost  hated  him  for  his  distrust  and  doubt  of 
Ned. 

XLYI. 

"  Ordotte,  old  fellow  !  where  did  you  come  from,  and 
how  do  you  do,  and  where  have  you  been,  and  wrhat  have 
you  been  doing,  and  when  did  you  arrive,  and  where  are 
you  stopping,  and—  "  the  numerous  questions  were  cut 
short  by  the  speaker's  positive  inability  to  continue  them. 


272  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

lie  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  a  very  red  face  and 
puffy  cheeks,  and  a  mouth  that  seemed  always  on  the 
point  of  blowing  something  away.  He  had  little  light- 
blue  eyes,  however,  which  had  a  certain  trusty  winning 
sparkle,  and  a  way  of  clasping  a  friend's  hand  that  went 
right  to  the  friend's  heart.  He  was  still  shaking  Mr. 
Ordotte's  hand  with  a  vigor  and  significance  that  quite 
atoned  for  his  loss  of  speech,  when  that  gentleman  good- 
humoredly  broke  in : 

"  You  swoop  down  upon  me  with  so  many  questions 
at  once  that  it  will  be  an  hour's  task  to  answer  you.  I 
came  yesterday  from  Liverpool,  where  I  landed  from 
New  York,  the  day  before  ;  I  am  in  excellent  health  ;  I 
have  been,  as  you  have  been  aware  from  my  letters,  so 
journing  with  a  Mrs.  Doloran,  of  Rahandabed  ;  I  have 
been  doing  nothing  in  particular,  and  I  am  stopping  for 
the  present  at  the  Grosvenor  Arms." 

"  Capital,  old  fellow,"  accompanied  by  a  vigorous  slap 
on  Ordotte's  shoulder ;  "  you  have  answered  all  my  ques 
tions  in  a  very  neat  manner.  And  now  come  along; 
we'll  have  a  chop  together  down  here  at  the  Picadilly, 
and  this  evening  I'll  introduce  you  to  our  club.  By 
Jove !  how  your  letters  used  to  amuse  them.  Why,  we 
had  extras  the  nights  your  letters  came.  I  used  to  read 
them  to  the  whole  assembled  club — I  mean  the  parts  that 
described  that  place  Rahan—  -  something  (but  no  mat 
ter  for  names),  and  that  odd  Mrs.  Doloran.  Everybody 
used  to  go  into  fits,  and  call  them  devilish  fine." 

"  Read  my  letters  aloud  to  the  whole  assembled  club  !  " 
repeated  Ordotte,  stopping  short  in  the  walk  both  Lad 
begun,  and  looking  at  his  companion  with  a  sort  of 
horrified  stare. 

"  Why,  yes,  old  fellow.  I  didn't  tell  you  so  when  I 
replied  to  you,  lest  the  fact  that  they  were  going  to  be 
read  aloud  might  impede  your  style.  'Now  don't  be  cut 
up  about  it.  Of  course,  I  did  not  read  anything  pertain 
ing  to  private  affairs,  only  your  amusing  descriptions  and 
your  capital  hits  at  the  different  characters  you  met.  For 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  273 

instance,  that  imbecile  fellow  Brekbellew,  whose  uncle  I 
wrote  to  you  was  in  business  on  the  Strand  with  the 
father  of  one  of  our  fellows,  Hepburn.  The  fellows  in 
our  club  laughed  about  him  till  the  tears  ran  down  some 
of  their  cheeks." 

By  this  time  Ordotte  had  either  been  quite  appeased, 
or  he  deemed  it  best  to  appear  so,  and  both  had  resumed 
their  way  to  the  Picadilly,  Ordotte's  friend  continuing : 

"  Didn't  he  make  a  lucky  marriage,  though — a  beauti 
ful  girl  and  an  heiress.  When  they  came  here  on  their 
wedding  trip,  they  stopped  at  old  Brekbellew's  for  a  day 
or  so,  and  Hepburn,  of  our  club — he's  the  youngest  and 
the  richest  man  in  it — saw  her.  He  raved  about  her  for 
a  fortnight  afterwards.  Whatever  induced  her  to  marry 
such  a  man  ?  Why,  his  uncle  says  he  hasn't  the  brains  of 
a  calf,  and  what  with  his  idiocy,  and  his  capacity  for  be 
ing  gulled  and  victimized,  and  his  insane  desire  to  create 
a  princely  impression  about  himself,  even  his  large  for 
tune  will  dwindle  in  a  little  while  ;  but  then  Iris  wife  is 
said  to  be  immensely  rich." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  The  Picadilly,  and  Mr. 
Munson's  volubility  was  inspired  afresh  when  an  appe 
tizing  lunch  was  placed  before  him  and  his  friend. 

"  Nothing  like  our  London  porter,"  he  said  with  a  blow 
of  satisfaction  as  he  put  down  his  empty  glass,  and  re 
filled  it.  "  You  have  gotten  into  American  ideas,"  as  he 
saw  that  Ordotte's  had  scarcely  touched  his. 

"  You  people  over  there  don't  know  how  to  breed  bone 
and  muscle  as  we  do,"  touching  with  a  gesture  of  pride 
his  own  short,  stout  arm. 

"  You  forget,"  answered  Ordotte,  laughing,  "  the  ef 
fect  of  my  Indian  life.  Remember  I  have  been  ten  years 
in  that  ghastly  country  with  not  much  opportunity  for 
making  bone  and  muscle." 

"  That's  a  fact,  old  fellow."  speaking  with  his  mouth 
half-full.  "  I  remember  when  you  came  from  India  to 
get  all  that  money  that  was  left  to  you  ;  you  were  even 
more  of  a  scrawny,  tawny-looking  being  than  you  are 


274:  A   FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 

now.  And  then  you  went  to  Italy,  didn't  you,  and  met 
that  queer  Mrs.  Doloran  there  ?  " 

Ordotte  nodded. 

"  And  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  and  how 
did  you  come  to  leave  Rahan —  —  devil  take  the  name  ? 
You  didn't  say  anything  in  your  last  letter  about  coming 
to  London." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  myself  at  the  time  ;  something  hap 
pened  shortly  afterward  to  make  me  decide  on  the  jour 
ney,  and  I  am  not  going  to  stay  in  London  longer  than  to 
made  arrangements  to  go  to  India." 

"  To  India  again  !  "  Mr.  Munson's  glass,  on  its  way  to 
his  mouth,  was  stopped  at  about  a  foot  from  that  capa 
cious  receptacle,  and  his  little  sparkling  eyes  were  trans 
fixed  with  astonishment. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  going  to  do  there  ? " 

"  A  little  business  bordering  perhaps  on  the  occult. 
You  know  there  are  jugglers  there,  and  persons  having 
the  gift  of  second  sight,  and  people  who  approach  you 
visiWy  in  spirit,  and  converse  with  you,  and  tell  you  mys 
terious  things,  but  whose  fleshly  bodies  may  be  at  that 
precise  time  fifty  miles  distant." 

"  Don't,  Ordotte,  don't  tell  me  any  more ;  you  are 
withering  the  marrow  in  my  backbone,"  and  in  order  to 
restore  the  vigor  of  the  said  marrow,  he  emptied  his  glass 
and  called  for  another,  making  the  third  measure  of 
porter. 

But  Ordotte,  without  noticing  the  interruption,  con 
tinued  : 

"  I  am  going  to  see  one  of  these  persons,  an  old  man 
who  dwells  in  the  Terai,  and  with  whom  I  have  had, 
when  I  lived  in  India,  more  than  one  mysterious  conver 
sation.  If  I  can  find  him,  I  sjiall  ask  his  help,  and  I  do 
not  think  he  will  refuse.  If  I  cannot  find  him,  I  shall 
search  for  another  of  his  kind." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Ordotte,  you  talk  as  if  you  had  been 
studying  the"  black  art." 

"  Perhaps   I  have — the   black   art   of    reading   other 


A  FATAL   KESEMBLANXJE.  275 

people's  hearts " — and  then  lie  finished  at  a  draught  his 
first  cjlass  of  porter. 

Mmnon  ate  on  in  silence,  looking  as  if  he  were 
strangely  divided  between  his  desire  to  satisfy  his  vora 
cious  appetite  and  his  wish  to  ask  more  questions.  At 
length  the  latter  prevailed,  and  as  the  grease  from  his 
wen-buttered  chop  trickled  smoothly  down  his  ample 
chin,  he  inquired  how  long  would  Ordotte's  stay  be  in 
India,  and  whether  he  would  return  to  England,  or  to 
New  York. 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  length  of  my  stay  in  India,  as  my 
errand  may  require  more  time  than  I  think,  and  I  shall 
not  return  to  New  York  from  there  unless  1  can  learn 
that  Mrs.  Brekbellew  has  also  returned  to  that  city. 
I  have  quite  a  desire  to  see  her  for  the  sake  of  old  times ; 
you  remember  what  interesting  accounts  I  gave  of  her, 
and  if  she  should  remain  abroad,  I  shall  certainly  make 
the  effort  to  meet  her  somewhere." 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  I  think  /  can  keep  you  posted  as  to 
her  whereabouts.  You  know  her  husband  writes  to  his 
uncle  regularly.  I  guess  he  does  it  as  a  stroke  of  policy. 
He  may  be  his  uncle's  heir,  and,  anyhow,  every  letter 
directed  to  them  comes  to  Brekbellew  &  Hepburn  first, 
and'  the  firm  forward  it  to  the  young  couple.  The're 
in  Paris  now,  spending  lots  of  money,  and  Mrs.  Brekbel 
lew' s  beauty  and  accomplishments  are  the  theme  of  every 
salon.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  her  poor  idiot  of  a  husband 
hadn't  by  this  time  become  like  most  French  husbands  of 
a  certain  class,  a  sort  of  figure-] lead." 

And  having  finished  his  chop  and  his  porter  simulta 
neously,  and  his  companion  also  having  finished  his 
slighter  gastronomical  operations,  both  sallied  forth,  after 
a  little,  taking  leave  of  each 'other,  and'Ordotte  walked 
slowly  back  to  his  hotel,  ruminating  on  all  that  he  had 
heard  about  Mrs.  Brekbellew. 

That  evening  lie  sent  a  note  of  excuse  to  Mr.  Munson, 
pleading  fatigue  as  the  cause  of  his  inability  to  be  present 
at  the  club  meeting,  and  expressing  deep  regret  that  he 


276  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

should  be  obliged  to  forego  the  pleasure.  And  while 
Munson,  having  read  the  note  to  the  assembled  members, 
was  discanting  upon  his  own  unexpected  meeting  with 
the  writer  of  the  same,  and  the  mysterious  object  of  his 
journey  to  India,  Ordotte  was  penning  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Doloran.  It  was  the  first  he  had  written  her  since  he  left 
Rahandabed,  and  he  filled  it  with  the  items  which  he 
knew  would  most  please  her.  In  an  incidental  way  he 
mentioned  what  he  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew's 
triumphs,  and  he  promised  to  write  again  as  soon  as  he 
reached  India. 

XL  VII. 

Life  in  Rahandabed  moved  at  its  old  gait ;  indeed,  it 
was  faster  and  more  vivacious  than  ever,  owing  to  Mrs. 
Doloran's  desire,  now  that  Ordotte  was  away  on  such  a 
mysterious  journey,  to  fill  up  the  time  with  excitement  so 
that  it  would  pass  the  quicker. 

The  house  was  so  constantly  crowded  with  guests  that 
it  presented  more  the  appearance  of  a  hotel  than  a  family 
country  mansion,  and  excursions  by  day  and  parties  by 
night  continued  without  intermission. 

Carnew  was  disgusted  with  it  all,  but  as  no  one,  not 
even  his  aunt,  dared  to  invade  his  solitude,  he  was  not 
disturbed  further  than  by  seeing  occasionally  a  little  of 
the  lamentable  folly.  He  knew  it  would  be  useless  to 
attempt  to  check  it,  or  even  to  remonstrate,  as  Mrs.  Do 
loran's  self-will  was  now  roused  to  such  a  pitch  that  even 
the  restraint  Alan  used  to  exercise  upon  her  seemed  to 
have  lost  its  power.  In  one  thing  he  did  interfere,  and 
by  so  doing  called  down  upon  himself  the  real  or  seeming 
animadversions  of  pretty  much  the  whole  house,  for  the 
entire  society  of  Rahandabed  was  formed  of  fashionable 
satellites,  who  revolved  around  the  mistress,  and  possessed 
their  souls  only  through  hers.  It  was,  when  she  an 
nounced  her  charitable  intention  of  keeping  the  woman 
Bunmer  and  her  baby  charge,  in  Rahandabed.  For  Mr. 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  277 

Dickson  she  had  actually  obtained,  through  the  influence 
of  her  friends,  a  very  lucrative  position  in  New  York,  and 
to  Mr.  Hay  man  she  had  sent  a  handsome  donation,  with 
the  promise  of  renewing  the  same  annually ;  but  for  Bun- 
mer  and  the  child,  since  Mrs.  Carnew  had  so  shamefully 
discarded  her  own  offspring,  it  became  "her  duty,"  spo 
ken  in  accents  of  the  most  stern  virtue,  to  provide  for 
them  in  a  tender  manner.  So,  in  the  servants'  hall  was 
Mrs.  Bunmer  installed,  with  a  very  comfortable  apart 
ment  entirely  to  herself,  and  no  labor  required  of  her 
but  the  careful  nursing  of  the  baby. 

Alan  swore  when  he  discovered  all  that,  but  his  aunt 
assumed  a  greater  appearance  of  virtuous  indignation  than 
ever,  and  went  into  such  hysterics  that  the  whole  house 
came  about  her,  and  her  nephew  was  glad  to  retreat  to  his 
own  solitary  and  secluded  apartments. 

When  the  letter  came  from  Ordotte,  she  read  it  to 
everybody,  and  insisted  upon  reading  it  to  Carnew,  for 
that  purpose  sending  for  him.  lie  returned  a  short  but 
respectful  reply,  declining  the  proposed  pleasure,  as  he 
had  no  interest  in  Mr.  Ordotte. 

"  But  he  shall  hear  it,  for  all  that,"  persisted  Mrs.  Do- 
loran,  and  straightway  she  went  to  his  apartments.  He 
was  in  his  own  room,  and  that  was  locked  against  her. 
Down  she  went  on  her  hnees,  so  that  her  mouth  could  be 
on  a  line  with  the  keyhole. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Doloran — 

"  Good  God ! "  said  Alan  to  himself,  as  the  words, 
fairly  shouted  through  the  aperture,  made  him  start  in  his 
chair,  and  sent  into  convulsions  of  subdued  laughter  some 
of  the  servants  who  were  surreptitiously  listening  in  the 
next  apartment,  "  how  shall  I  rid  myself  of  her  ? " 

"  I  have  had  a  most  pleasant  voyage,"  pursued  the  sten 
torian  tones,  "  and  one  that  I  should  have  enjoyed  ex 
ceedingly  were  it  not  for  my  regret  at  leaving  feahanda- 
bed  and  you " 

"  Thank  Providence,  some  one  appreciates  me,"  thrown 
in  from  herself  by  way  of  a  reproachful  parenthesis. 


278  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  When  I  arrived  in  London,  I  met  a  dear  old  friend, 
Mr.  Munson  by  name  ; "  "  but  what's  the  use  of  reading 
the  whole  of  such  a  nice  letter  to  you  ;  you  wouldn't  ap 
preciate  it.  I'll  just  go  on  to  what  it  says  of  that  lovely 
Mrs.  Brekbellew  ;  she's  in  Paris,  with  the  Emperor  him 
self  at  her  feet.  If  you  had  married  lier,  now,  as  I  wanted 
and  begged  you  to  do  " — she  had  never  asked  him  to  do 
anything  of  the  kind,  but  that  didn't  make  any  difference 
in  the  present  instance — "  instead  of  that  shameless,  brazen, 
good-for-nothing  Ned— 

She  was  cut  short  by  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door, 
so  sudden  that,  as  the  door  opened  outwards,  it  sent  her 
flat  on  her  back  in  a  most  ungraceful  sprawl. 

The  hot  words  on  her  nephew's  lips  could  come  no 
further  as  he  saw  his  aunt's  position,  and  if  they  could, 
they  would  not  be  heard,  for  she  set  up  a  succession  of 
screams  that  brought  the  whole  corps  of  listening  servants 
into  the  room.  Alan,  seizing  his  hat,  fled  from  the  apart 
ment,  and  ordering  his  horse,  dashed  away  on  a  frantic 
ride. 

But  he  had  taken  his  wonted  direction,  and  as  he  rode 
through  the  fresh,  blooming  country,  somehow  there  stole 
into  his  troubled  thoughts  the  reminiscences  which  Ned 
had  told  him  of  her  child-life,  when  she  talked  to  the 
trees ;  and  then  there  came  conjectures  about  her  present 
life,  what  she  was  doing,  how  she  employed  her  days, 
whether  Dyke  did  refrain,  as  he  had  said  he  would  do, 
from  visiting  her,  and  whether  her  heart  had  become 
really  as  cold  to  him  as  her  last  brief  note  would  indicate  ; 
and  lastly,  he  felt  such  a  wild,  uncontrollable  yearning  to 
ascertain  something  about  her,  that  he  actually  turned 

about  and  rode  straight  to  C again,  where  he  put  up 

at  the  hotel,  and  dispatched  a  messenger  to  Macgilivray  to 
request  the  latter  to  take  home  his  horse. 

Then  he  took  the  train  up  the  river,  crossed  to  Sauger- 
ties,  found  a  better  place  of  refreshment  than  Ned  had 
discovered,  and  the  next  morning  sallied  forth,  hardly 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  279 

knowing  what  tlie  object  of  his  journey  had  been,  nor 
what  he  now  intended  to  do. 

The  village,  though  quite  worthy  of  the  name  then, 
was  not  so  populous  nor  so  well-built  as  in  these  progres 
sive  days,  nor  did  the  people  have  such  a  smart,  half-city 
look.  And  everybody  stared  at  him  ;  so  elegant  a  look 
ing  gentleman  had  not  greeted  the  eyes  of  many  of  them 
before,  and  all  unconscious  of  any  rudeness  upon  their 
part,  they  continued  to  look  from  the  well-brushed  nap  of 
his  hat  to  his  brightly -polished,  snug-fitting  boots.  Finding 
that  staring  seemed  to  be  in  perfect  propriety,  he  did  a 
little  of  it  on  his  own  account,  and  at  length,  felt  his 
eyes  to  rest  with  unusual  curiosity  upon  a  very  old  man, 
apparently  blind,  who  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  front  of 
a  cobbler's  shop.  His  face  had  that  winning  serenity  which 
is  not  infrequently  seen  in  the  faces  of  the  blind,  and  that 
seems  to  spsak  of  a  peace  in  their  souls  unknown  to  those 
who  are  in  possession  of  their  eyesight.  His  attire  was 
poor  but  scrupulously  clean,  and  his  small  hands  and  at 
tenuated  fingers  showed  that  they  had  never  been  em 
ployed  in  much  rude  labor. 

He  was  quite  alone  on  the  bench,  and  Carnew,  impelled 
he  scarcely  knew  how  or  why,  seated  himself  beside  him  ; 
at  the  same  time  three  pair  of  round  eyes  looked  at  him 
fi  om  the  cobbler's  window,  and  three  little,  round,  straw-. 
berry  mouths  were  opened  wide  in  childish  astonishment 
at  the  stranger. 

"  Excuse  my  speaking  to  you,''  said  Carnew  kindly, 
"  but  I  am  a  stranger  here,  and  would  like  to  ask  a  few 
questions." 

The  old  man  turned  his  sightless  eyes  on  the  speaker, 
with  that  singularly  intelligent  way  that  the  blind  occasion 
ally  have,  and  answered  in  a  voice  that  evinced  education 
and  natural  refinement : 

"  There  is  no  apology  needed  for  speaking  to  me,  sir; 
and  ask  as  many  questions  as  you  choose,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  answer  them." 


280  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"  Have  you  lived  long  here  ?  Bo  you  know  most  of  the 
people  about  ? " 

"  I  have  lived  here  forty  years,  and  I  know  everybody 
within  a  reach  of  ten  miles,  and  everybody  knows  me.  I 
came  here  from  Edinburgh,  where  I  was  educated  in  the 
university ;  I  came  here  because  I  had  failed  to  get  along 
at  home.  I  fancied  that  I  had  a  turn  for  farm  labor,  and 
that  in  a  new  country  I'd  make  a  good  hand.  I  was  mis 
taken  ;  my  taste  for  books  was  too  strong,  and  I  threat 
ened  to  be  as  great  a  ne'er-do-weel  here  as  at  home.  But 
Providence  was  good  to  me.  From  one  and  the  other  of 
the  neighbors,  though  there  weren't  near  as  many  then, 
I  got  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  teaching  the  children. 
As  my  own  wants  were  small,  and  as  I  never  married  to 
increase  them,  I  managed  to  eke  out  enough  for  my  sup 
port." 

"  Since  you  know  the  people  within  such  a  range,  do 
you  know  any  one  by  the  name  of  Dutton  ?  " 
•"    "  Dutton ! "  the  sightless  face  kindled  with  delighted 
animation.     "  Do  you  mean  Dyke  Dutton,  that  lives  out 
here  on  the  mountains  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  must  be  the  same." 

"  Do  I  know  him  f  "  returned  the  old  man.  "  It  was 
I  who  educated  him,  and  a  pleasure  it  was  to  me  to  do  so, 
he  was  so  quick  to  learn,  and  so  grateful,  and  so  noble ; 
yes,  sir ;  "  placing,  in  his  enthusiasm,  his  hand  on  Carnew's 
arm,  "  noble  is  the  word  to  apply  to  him.  Why,  he  never 
forgot  me.  Others  that  I  have  done  more  for  grew  up, 
and  got  rich,  and  wouldn't  know  me  if  they  saw  me ;  but 
he,  even  in  his  adversity,  didn't  forget  me.  My  Christ 
mas  and  Easter  present  of  money  came  to  me  just  the 
the  same.  He  thought  to  conceal  from  me  the  poverty 
he  was  in,  when  that  scoundrel  Patten,  to  whom  he  trusted 
the  getting  of  his  patent,  deceived  and  robbed  him,  but 
there's  not  much  like  that  can  be  concealed  in  these  parts, 
sir.  The  whole  village  somehow  got  hold  of  it,  and  if 
that  scoundrel  Patten  was  to  show  his  face  here,  lie 
wouldn't  have  life  enough  left  in  him  to  get  back  to 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  281 

where  lie  came  from.  But,  speaking  of  Dyke's  good 
ness,  sir,  one  day,  about  six  weeks  ago,  when  he  was  in  a 
great  hurry,  going  down,  he  said,  to  Barry  town,  he  stopped 
for  a  minute  to  see  how  I  was  getting  along,  because  liesaid 
it  might  be  a  good  while  before  he  would  be  up  hsrc 
again.  I  knew  by  tho  tons  of  his  voice  that  lie  was  trou 
bled  ;  but  as  he  said  nothing  about  it,  I  didn't  like  to  as" : 
him.  Afterwards,  however,  when  they  got  it  here  in  the 
village  that  letters  had  come  in  his  care  for  Mrs.  Carnew, 
and  when  farmer  Dean,  who  lives  just  a  couple  of  miles 
from  Dyke,  brought  the  news  that  Mrs.  Carnew  was  stay 
ing  there  with  old  Meg,  I  couldn't  get  it  out  of  my  mind 
that  he  was  troubled  about  her.  You  see,  sir,  she  was 
raised  with  him,  and  only  went  away  to  go  to  school ;  but 
afterwards  she  made  a  grand  marriage,  and  perhaps  she 
isn't  happy.  But,  excuse  me,  sir,  for  talking  so  much ;  I 
am  so  fond  of  Dyke  that  I  caii't  stop  myself  when  his 
name  is  mentioned  ;  and  then  maybe  you  knew  all  that  I 
have  told  you.  You  see,  if  it  wasn't  for  his  kind  pres: 
ents,"  going  again  into  the  subject  of  Dyke's  goodness, 
"  I'd  have  to  be  more  beholden  to  these  good  people," 
motioning  back  to  the  cobbler's  shop,  "  than  I  am.  And 
now,  sir,  what  did  you  wish  to  know  about  Mr.  Dutton?  " 
forgetting  in  his  childish  simplicity  that  he  had  imparted 
pretty  much  his  whole  stock  of  information. 

Carnew  was  a  little  puzzled  what  to  answer,  in  order  to 
pretend  that  he  knew  very  little  of  Mr.  Dutton,  and  seiz 
ing  on  the  first  idea  that  presented  itself,  he  answered : 

"  I  have  heard  that  his  home  is  situated  in  a  very  pic 
turesque  spot,  and  I  thought  as  I  was  in  this  part  of  the 
country  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"  Well,  about  its  situation,"  responded  the  old  man,  in 
a  tone  that  indicated  a  little  of  his  disappointment  at  not 
being  asked  something  directly  relative  to  Dyke's  self, 
"  that  depends  on  individual  taste  ;  before  I  lost  my  sight, 
ten  years  ago  this  very  month,  I  thought  it  was  a  pretty, 
romantic  spot,  but  I  have  heard  since  that  some  people 
think  the  scenery  is  too  wild.  As  to  seeing  it  for  your- 


232  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

self,  sir,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that ;  at  the  very 
next  corner  you  will  find  people  glad  to  let  you  have  a 
conveyance  and  a  driver  to  guide  you." 

".Do  you  think  I  should  find  Mr.  Dutton  at  home  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no,  sir ;  whenever  he  is  at  home,  somebody  down 
here  knows  it ;  for  every  time  the  hired  man  comes  down 
for  letters,  or  anything  else,  he  is  always  asked  about 
Dyke.  Last  time  he  was  down,  he  said  Dyke  was  back 
to  his  business  in  New  York." 

"  Well,  then,  whom  do  you  think  I  shall  find  at  home." 

"  You'll  find  old  Meg;  she's  a  sort  of  daft  now,  they  say  ; 
has  what  the  doctors  call  softening  of  the  brain,  and  so 
doesn't  remember  what  happened  last  week.  And  you'll 
find  Mrs.  Carnew  there,  and  a  hired  woman." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Mrs.  Carnew  ?  " 

"  When  she  was  a  little  girl,  but  not  since  ;  she  was  as 
handsome  as  a  picture  then ;  and  how  Dyke  loved  her  ! 
They  say  she  has  grown  up  beautiful." 

By  this  time,  the  owners  of  the  three  pair  of  round 
eyes  and  the  three  strawberry-months  had  become  so 
venturesome  that  they  dared  to  get  into  exceedingly  close 
proximity  to  Mr.  Carnew,  and  were  even  about  to  lay 
rather  familiar  hands  upon  his  clothes.  Within  doors, 
the  honest  cobbler  and  his  good-natured  helpmate  had 
bsen  holding  a  whispered  conversation  about  the  stranger. 

Alan  smiled,  as  lie  noticed  the  encroaches  of  the  little 
ones,  and  while  he  felt  in  his  purse  for  a  coin  apiece  for 
them,  he  asked  the  old  man  for  his  name. 

"  Peter  Patterson,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  Peter,"  said  Carnew,  shaking  the  old  man's 
hand,  and  leaving  in  it  a  golden  douceur,  "  I  have  quite 
enjoyed  listening  to  you,  and  now  I  shall  go  to  the  corner 
and  hire  a  conveyance  to  take  me  out  to  Mr.  Dutton's 
home." 

The  conveyance  was  soon  procured,  and  the  driver, 
being  a  voluble  fellow  and  well  acquainted  with  the 
topography,  not  alone  of  his  own  village,  but  seemingly 
of  all  Ulster  County,  entertained  his  passenger  with  the 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  283 

history  of  the  occupants  of  ever)7  farm-house  they  passed, 
an  account  of  the  last  new  road  that  had  been  projected 
and  partly  made  through  the  mountains,  with  a  view  to 
building  a  sort  of  hotel  on  one  of  the  most  accessible 
peaks  for  summer  tourists.  That  capitalists  from  New 
York  were  already  on  the  ground,  and  that  both  road 
and  hotel  would  be  completed  in  another  season. 

"  The  place  is  just  four  miles  beyond  Mr.  Button's, 
sir ;  if  you'd  like  to  see  it,  I'll  drive  on,  and  you  can  stop 
at  Mr.  button's  coming  back." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  stop  at  all  at  Mr.  Button's ;  I  only 
wish  to  drive  by  his  place  to  see  its  situation." 

"Well  then,  shall  I  drive  you  the  four  miles  beyond  ?" 

Garnew  assented,  and  the  driver  continued  his  com 
municative  strain,  until  they  came  in  sight  of  Ned's  home. 

"  That's  Mr.  Button's  house,"  said  the  driver,  pointing 
with  his  whip  to  the  little  mottled  dwelling,  and  Carnew 
leaned  forward,  his  heart  beating  violently,  and  his  cheeks 
flushing.  The  smoke  was  curling  in  a  lively,  home-like 
way  up  from  the  chimney ;  a  fat,  speckled  cow  was  grazing 
in  a  field  near-by  ;  and  a  man  was  working  at  something 
just  outside  the  barn.  The  door  of  the  little  house  itself 
was  open,  and  some  one,  at  the  sound  of  the  wheels 
passing,  came  to  the  doorway  to  look  out.  Carnew 
shrank  behind  his  companion  and  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes ;  but  it  was  not  Ned,  it  was  only  a  stout,  middle  aged 
working-woman.  He  wondered  if  she  were  Meg,  about 
whom  he  had  heard  so  much ;  but  he  thought  not,  for 
Meg  had  been  described  as  quite  old.  So,  reassured  that 
Ned  was  not  in  sight,  he  pushed  his  hat  back  again, 
resumed  his  first  position,  and  once  more  looked  about 
him.  There  were  the  woods,  her  woods,  about  which  she 
had  told  him  such  quaint  tales  of  her  childish  fancies ; 
and  beyond  were  the  grand,  old  mountain  peaks,  look 
ing  in  the  sunlight  of  the  summer-day  like  gilded  monu 
ments  of  a  primeval  age.  What  peace  there  was  about  it 
all !  A  peace  that  seemed  to  make  Carnew  more  tired 


284:  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

than  ever  of  his  own  unsatisfactory  life,  ana  of  the  hollow, 
heartless  people  who  made  up  the  society  of  Rahandabed. 

The  additional  four  miles  lay  through  scenes  as  pic 
turesque,  but  wilder  than  those  they  had  passed,  and  lato 
in  the  afternoon  they  came  upon  a  perfect  hive  of  laborer  > 
A  temporary  structure  had  already  been  erected  in  the 
doorway  of  which  stood  what  were  a  couple  of  evidently 
city  gentlemen,  though  dressed  in  the  easy  costume  that 
bespeaks  men  who  have  renounced  all  the  restraints  of 
fashion.  They  looked  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  at 
Carnew,  who,  tired  of  his  somewhat  cramped  position  in 
the  wagon,  had  alighted  to  stretch  his  limbs. 

He  bowed  to  the  gentlemen,  and  then  advancing,  told 
how  he  had  heard  of  their  undertaking,  and  had  come  to 
gratify  his  curiosity  by  seeing  it ;  after  which  he  presented 
his  card. 

"  What  ?  Carnew  is  it  ? "  exclaimed  the  younger  of  the 
two  gentlemen,  with  delighted  surprise.  u  Are  you,  my 
dear  fellow,  the  Alan  Carnew  of  some  place  along  the 
Hudson — some  place  with  an  odd  name?" 

"  The  very  same,"  replied  Alan  laughing. 

"  Well,  I  am  Charles  Brekbellew,  cousin  of  that  poor 
idiot,  Harry  Brekbellew,  who  made  a  long  visit  at  your 
place  with  the  odd  name,  and  who  ended  by  marrying  a 
great  beauty  and  an  heiress.  Now,  if  you  have  formed 
any  personal  and  private  opinion  of  that  same  weak  devil, 
Harry  Brekbellew,  who,  like  other  devils  of  the  same  ilk, 
get  the  best  plums  from  fortune,  don't  let  that  opinion 
extend  to  your  humble  servant.  I  am  his  first  cousin,  son 
of  his  father's  brother,  and  shipped  from  England  here, 
six  years  ago,  because  I  wouldn't  truckle  to  a  rich  old 
uncle,  a  banker  in  London,  and  another  Brekbellew. 
Harry  used  to  write  to  me  once  in  a  while  about  his  times 
in — well,  in  that  place  with  the  odd  name;  and  that's 
how  I  came  to  hear  about  you.  He  said  you  were  a  good 
soi-t  of  chap,  but  not  much  for  mingling  with  the  rest 
of  them,  which  course  on  your  part,  if  the  rest  of  them 
ware  like  my  cousin,  did  you  much  honor.  He  didn't 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  285 

have  the  grace  to  ask  me  to  his  wedding — but  here  I  am 
rattling  on  and  forgetting  all  the  courtesies.  Mr.  Carnew, 
allow  me  to  present  to  you  my  friend  and  partner,  Mr. 
McArthur." 

As  Mr.  McArthur  was  an  Irishman  of  the  type  whose 
hearts  entirely  rule  their  heads,  it  is  needless  to  say  that 
he  responded  to  the  introduction  by  giving  Alan's  hand 
a  most  cordial  shake,  and  then  he  followed  up  his  cordiality 
by  wanting  to  know  if  Mr.  Carnew  wouldn't  step  within 
and  join  them  in  a  bit  of  lunch,  to  which  Mr.  Brekbellew 
responded  by  taking  Carnew's  arm,  and  insisting  thnt  he 
should  do  so,  saying  as  he  led  Alan  within : 

"  Now  that  you  are  with  us  on  the  mountains,  why  not 
make  a  stay  of  a  week  ?  We  have  everything  you  need 
in  the  way  of  dress,  and  I  am  sure  our  manner  of  living 
will  be  a  pleasant  novelty  to  you.  Come,  say  you  will, 
and  let  me  dismiss  this  man  of  yours.  One  of  us  will 
drive  you  down  to  Sangerties  at  the  end  of  the  week." 

Carnew's  heart  leaped  at  the  offer  ;  to  be  for  a  whole 
week  in  the  very  vicinity  of  Ned  ;  to  have,  perhaps,  op 
portunities  of  making,  in  the  gloaming  of  the  day,  sur 
reptitious  visits  to  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  her 
home,  and  to  catch  secret  glimpses  of  her,  perchance,  were 
enough  of  themselves  to  make  him  inclined  to  accept  the 
invitation,  even  if  his  companions  had  been  less  sincere 
and  genial  than  they  were.  And  then  both  pressed  him 
so  earnestly,  tempting  him  with  all  the  wild,  novel 
pleasures  of  the  place,  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  resist. 
80  the  driver  was  dismissed,  and  Carnew  remained  with 
Mr.  McArthur  and  Mr.  Brekbellew. 

XLYIII. 

Carnew  found  his  new  abode  to  be  one  of  pleasant 
novelty  ;  life  there  seemed  to  be  something  like  what  ho 
used  to  read  when  a  boy  of  the  life  of  the  people  in  the 
backwoods ;  everything  was  done  simply,  in  a  manner 
almost  primitive,  and  there  was  such  a  genial  glow  shed 


286  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

over  it  all  by  his  two  pleasant  companions.  he  very 
second  day  he  found  himself  entering  into  all  their  ways 
with  a  zest  that  was  refreshing  to  himself,  and  most 
agreeable  to  his  friends.  They  took  him  quite  into  their 
confidence. 

u  You  see,  Mr.  Carnew,"  said  Brekbellew,  who  in 
neither  countenance,  voice,  nor  manner  resembled  his 
cousin,  and  who,  while  he  could  not  lay  the  slightest 
cla:m  to  physical  beauty,  bore  that  evidence  of  manhood 
which  wins  involuntary  favor.  "  You  see,"  he  repeated, 
we  haven't  undertaken  this  enterprise  so  much  to  make 
money  out  of  it  as  to  give  ourselves  a  new  object  of  in 
terest.  If  it  just  pays  the  expense,  we  shall  be  satisfied  ; 
if  it  does  not,  McArthur  there  will  lose  pretty  heavily, 
but  he  won't  mind,  for  he  is  pretty  rich,  and  hasn't  any 
wife  to  call  him  to  account.  As  for  me,  I'm  a  poor  devil 
anyhow,  and  the  little  I  sunk  in  the  enterprise  won't 
beggar  me.  There  is  no  one  to  call  me  to  account  except 
that  old  uncle  on  the  other  side,  and  as  I  told  you,  he 
washed  his  hands  of  me  six  years  ago  because  I  dared  to 
hold  some  opinions  of  my  own.  My  cousin  Harry  will 
come  in  for  all  that  fortune." 

"  You  are  better  without  it,  Charlie,"  said  McArthur, 
in  his  rich  Irish  voice ;  "  carve  your  own  way  in  the 
world  as  I  did." 

Carnew  looked  at  the  last  speaker,  thinking  he  was 
rather  young  to  have  carved  his  own  way  to  the  wealth 
he  was  said  to  possess ;  but  he  also  thought,  as  he  con 
tinued  to  look,  it  was  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  when  one 
noticed  the  physiognomy  of  the  man.  Perception,  judg 
ment,  observation,  memory  were  all  most  strikingly  de 
veloped,  while  benevolence  shadowed  all,  and  mirth,  the 
true,  Irish,  witty  mirth,  stood  out  as  strongly  as  the  other 
qualities.  It  was  a  face,  like  Brekbellew's,  not  possessing 
the  beauty  that  goes  to  silly  women's  hearts,  but  a  face  to 
delight  the  physiognomist,  and  the  form  which  it  sur 
mounted  was  somewhat  slender,  but  well-knit  and  com 
pact. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


287 


"We  came  up  here,"  pursued  Brekbellew,  "last  sum 
mer,  Dan  and  I,  and  we  stayed  a  fortnight  tenting  it. 
Don't  you  think  we  are  pioneers  ?  Well,  that  was  the 
way  the  idea  came  first,  the  idea  of  building  a  sort  of 
summer-house  up  among  these  mountains,  and  running 
it  for  tourists  like  ourselves.  It  came  to  McArthur  who 
was  rusting  for  something  to  do,  and  lie  broached  it  to 
me,  allowing  me,  just  to  say  that  I  had  some  money  in  it, 
to  put  in  the  magnificent  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars. 
Yes,  sir ;  that  is  the  extent  of  my  share  in  this  great  en 
terprise." 

And  the  speaker  affected  to  swell  with  most  laughable 
importance. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  "  the  hardest  job  would  be 
making  the  road,  and  getting  the  materials  up  here  for 
our  building.  We  looked  about  us  for  awhile,  and  finally 
hit  on  that  place  of  Dutton's  " — Carnew  started  slightly, 
but  he  was  not  observed — "  four  miles  below  here  ;  it  was 
such  a  pretty  spot,  and  not  quite  so  high  as  this,  and  in 
stead  of  having  any  new  road  made,  we  could  have  im 
proved  the  old  one.  But  Dutton  wouldn't  sell ;  it  was 
an  old  homestead,  and  he  couldn't  part  with  it.  I  saw 
him  dowrn  in  New  York,  at  his  place  of  business,  and  I 
never  was  so  much  taken  with  a  stranger  in  my  life. 
There  was  such  an  air  of  simple  honesty  about  the  man. 
I  was  so  impressed  by  him,  I  had  to  take  McArthur  to 
see  him  on  the  pretense  of  business,  of  course,  and  he 
came  aw^ay  with  tli3  same  feeling ;  didn't  you,  Dan  2 " 

Dan  nodded  his  head. 

Carnew  bit  his  lip  with  secret  vexation  ;  this  was  the 
second  time  within  two  days  that  Dyke's  praises  had  been 
pressed  upon  him. 

"  It  would  have  been  a  desirable  site,"  he  answered,  in 
order  to  get  the  conversation  out  of  the  channel  of  enco 
miums.  "  I  noticed  it  as  I  was  driven  here.  And  would 
you  object  to  my  becoming  a  partner  in  this  undertaking  ? 
I  also,  like  Mr.  McArthur,  have  some  spare  funds— 

"  Couldn't  think  of   it,  my  dear  fellow,"  interrupted 


288  A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

McArthur;  "I  cannot  share  the  honors  of  this  enter 
prise  any  further  than  I  have  done  ;  the  success  or  the 
failure  must  be  ours  alone,  must  it  not,  Charlie  ?  " 

To  which  Charlie  responded  an  emphatic 

"  Certainly." 

That  was  the  honest-hearted  Irishman's  way  of  refusing 
to  entrap  even  a  rich  friend  into  what  iniglit  prove  a 
failure. 

That  evening  Carnew  took  a  walk,  a  solitary  walk  that 
led  him  down  the  mountain  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Dut- 
ton's  house.  It  was  a  brilliant  sunset  when  he  started, 
but  it  was  moonlight  when  he  had  traversed  the  four 
miles  which  intervened.  The  little  mottled,  well-remem 
bered  house  was  in  sight,  with  the  light  from  a  lamp 
shining  through  one  of  the  windows.  Like  a  culprit  try 
ing  to  escape  from  justice,  he  stole  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  little  dwelling.  If  he  could  only  get  one  sight  of  her, 
he  would  be  satisfied,  he  would  be  happy. 

Every  wooden  shutter  was  thrown  back,  so  that  if  the 
lamplight  would  not  expose  him  he  might  steal  in  turn  to 
each  of  the  windows  that  were  situated  at  accessible 
heights  from  the  ground,  and  perhaps  a  kind  Providence 
would  reward  him.  He  did  so,  and  through  one  of  the 
open  windows  near  which  lie  stood,  he  beheld  with  a  great 
throb  of  his  heart  the  object  of  his  search.  She  was 
seated  by  a  little  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  which 
stood  the  lamp  that  sent  its  rays  so  far,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  reading  a  letter  to  an  aged  woman  by  her  side. 

As  only  her  profile  was  toward  him,  he  could  not  see 
what  ravages  separation  from  her  husband  had  made  in 
her  countenance  ;  he  could  only  see  the  clear,  chiseled 
profile,  the  low,  coiling  mass  of  soft,  abundant  hair,  and 
the  slender,  graceful  figure.  Then  the  tones  of  her  clear, 
sweet  voice  floated  out  to  him,  and  he  caught  that  she  was 
reading  a  letter  from  Dyke.  He  strained  his  ears,  but 
that  was  scarcely  necessary,  for  her  words  came  to  him 
distinctly : 

"  You  wrill  not  mind,  dear  Ned,  that  I  still  remain 


A.     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

away.  And,  perhaps,  even  you  will  be  comforted  a  little 
by  knowing  that  I  am  relieved  of  so  much  anxiety  in  feel 
ing  that  your  gentle  care  is  about  dear  old  Meg.  Surely 
He  who  forgets  nothing  that  is  done  for  His  name's  sake 
will  reward  you  for  your  unselfish  affection,  will  reward 
you  by  proving  your  innocence,  and  restoring  to  you 
your  husband's  love  and  trust.  Have  courage  and  hope 
a  little  longer,  and  this  night  of  trouble  will  be  followed 
by  a  clear  and  perfect  day." 

At  this  juncture,  whether  by  that  magnetic  pressure, 
which  makes  us  feel  that  eyes  we  do  not  directly  see  are 
looking  at  us,  or  whether  Alan,  in  his  eagerness,  forgot 
himself  so  far  as  to  incautiously  shift  his  position,  Mrs. 
Carnew  stopped  her  reading  abruptly,  and  turning  so  that 
she  faced  the  window,  she  saw  her  husband's  countenance. 

The  suddenness  of  the  sight,  the  seeming  impractica 
bility  and  impossibility  of  his  being  in  such  a  place  at 
such  an  hour,  and  in  such  a  manner,  all  combined  to  make 
her  think  it  was  an  apparition,  an  apparition  that  boded 
some  evil  to  him,  according  to  the  old  superstitious 
legends  of  her  childhood,  and  with  an  agonized  scream 
she  attempted  to  stand,  but  reeled,  and  fell  back  fainting 
to  her  chair. 

Alan  fled  ;  though  a  moment  before  he  was  softened,  and 
touched  even  in  Dyke's  favor,  by  the  hearing  of  that  let 
ter,  which  had  not  one  harsh  word  of  himself,  now  his 
old  pride  had  returned.  He  would  not  be  caught  thus 
surreptitiously  looking  at  his  wife,  for  the  world,  and  he 
fairly  dashed  along  the  mountain  road  by  which  he  had 
come,  not  relaxing  his  speed  until  he  had  run  a  mile  or 
more. 

When  Mrs.  Carnew  recovered,  knowing  that  old  Meg 
would  not  understand  her,  and  Anne  McCabe  w^ould  be 
unable  to  help  her  to  any  solution  of  the  mystery,  she  de 
cided  not  to  say  a  word  of  what  had  caused  her  swoon, 
and  she  satisfied  the  sympathizing  inquiries  of  the  woman 
by  answers  which,  while  they  were  truthful,  still  did  not 
betray  what  she  wished  to  conceal.  Poor  old  Meg  asked 


290  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

nothing ;  only  put  her  arms  around  Ned,  and  pillowed 
her  head  on  her  breast  as  she  used  to  do  when  she  was  a 
strong  and  comparatively  young  woman,  and  Ned  was  a 
little,  helpless  child. 

But  Mrs.  Carnew  thought  about  the  strange  cause  of  her 
fainting  fit  all  the  more  because  of  her  silence  upon  it, 
and  when  she  replied  to  Dyke's  letter,  which  she  did  that 
very  night,  she  begged  him  to  find  out  something  about 
her  husband's  health.  She  did  not  tell  him  why  she 
made  such  a  request,  further  than  to  say  it  was  owing  to 
a  sudden  and  strange  anxiety,  because  she  felt  that  Dyke 
would  think  what  she  saw  was  only  an  hallucination  of 
her  own  disturbed  brain,  and  that  he  would  deem  her 
weak  and  unwomanly  for  yielding  to  it. 

And  Dyke  did  smile  a  little  when  he  read  her  request, 
but  he  loved  the  writer  none  the  less  for  it,  and  as  he 
slipped  the  letter  into  the  fastening  which  bound  her 
other  letters — he  kept  them  all  together  now — he  resolved 
to  go  to  Rahandabed,  that  he  might  ascertain  in  person 
the  information  desired  by  Ned. 

Alan  had  regained  his  mountain  quarters  in  such  a 
state  of  breathlessiiess  that  his  companions  wanted  to 
know  if  he  had  met  a  bear,  and  if  the  killing  of  it  had 
thrown  him  into  such  a  panting  condition. 

"  No  ;  but  I've  had  a  long  quick  walk  up  your  moun 
tain,  equal  in  exertion  to  an  encounter  with  a  bear," 
answered  Carnew  laughing,  and  then  he  fell  to  the  late 
supper  which  had  been  delayed  for  him,  and  took  his  own 
animated  part  in  the  bright,  genial  conversation  of  his 
companions,  as  if  his  heart  and  his  head  were  not  on  fire 
with  thoughts  of  his  wife. 

At  midnight,  when  his  friends  had  retired,  he  stole  out 
to  walk  and  think. 

If  but  one  message  would  come  from  her  ;  one  little 
word  of  wifely  love,^or  remembrance,  he  felt  he  would  be 
willing  to  condone  everything,  and  implore  her  to  return 
to  him.  But  this  wilful  obstinacy  and  pride  upon  her 
part,  made  him  equally  determined  and  proud,  and  as  he 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  291 

looked  up  to  the  clear,  moonlit  sky,  lie  shut  his  teeth  hard 
together,  resolving  no  love  on  his  part  should  betray  him 
into  yielding  one  iota,  until  she  had  made  the  first  advance. 
But,  when  he  turned  in  at  last  to  sleep,  his  fitful  slumber 
was  beset  by  visions  of  Ned  as  he  saw  her  that  evening, 
reading  Dyke's  letter. 

He  remained  with  his  mountain  friends  a  week  as  he 
had  promised  to  do,  and  every  evening  he  rambled  in  the 
direction  of  Ned's  home  ;  but  only  far  enough  to  be  in 
sight  of  the  house  ;  he  was  afraid  to  risk  again  a  nearer 
view,  for,  though  on  the  first  occasion  he  had  fled  so 
quickly  that  he  was  certain  he  had  not  been  recognized, 
he  might  not  be  so  fortunate  again.  Sometimes  one  or 
both  of  his  friends  accompanied  him,  and  though  they  re 
marked  the  lingering  look  with  which  he  turned  from 
Button's  place,  they  little  dreamed,  not  knowing  that 
Carnew  was  married,  of  the  dear,  dear  object  under  Dut- 
ton's  roof. 

On  the  day  of  his  departure,  Brekbellew  drove  him  to 
Saugerties,  and  obtained  from  him  a  promise  to  revisit  the 
mountain  quarters  before  the  setting  in  of  cold  weather. 

"  And  next  season,  Mr.  Carnew,"  he  said,  as  he  shook 
Alan's  hand,  "  we'll  be  able  to  give  you  the  welcome  of  a 
prince,"  to  which  Alan  responded,  by  reminding  him  of 
the  promise  he  and  McArthur  had  given  to  visit  Rahan- 
dabed  during  the  winter. 

As  Carnew  neared  C ,  his  last  interview  with  his 

aunt — when  she  had  attempted  to  read  Ordotte's  letter 
through  the  keyhole,  and  had  failed  so  disastrously — came 
to  his  mind  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  dashed  away  so 
frantically,  and  filled  as  his  thoughts  were  with  disturbing 
and  weighty  matters,  the  ludicrousness  of  the  scene  struck 
him  as  it  did  not  do  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence,  lie 
laughed  to  himself,  laughed  even  after  he  had  reached 

C ,  and  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  conveyance  he  hired 

to  take  him  to  Kalian  dabed. 

It  was  evening  when  the  vehicle  turned  into  the  broad, 


292  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

admirably  kept  road  which   led  to  the  house,  and  the 
wonted  festivity  was  under  way. 

Scarcely  looking  at  the  flashing  lights,  and  the  gaily 
dressed  ladies  flitting  past  the  open  windows,  he  directed 
the  man  to  drive  to  the  side  of  the  house,  and  having  paid 
and  dismissed  him,  he  went  quietly  to  his  own  apartments. 
He  had  hardly  entered  when  a  servant  knocked  for 
admission. 

"  Mrs.  Doloran  desired  to  know  the  moment  you  re 
turned  home,  sir,  and  having  been  told  that  you  are  here, 
she  wants  to  know  if  you  will  go  to  her,  or  if  she  will 
come  to  you." 

Carnew  frowned,  thinking,  that  perhaps  she  meant  to 
renew  her  attempt  at  reading  Ordotte's  letter,  and  he  con 
cluded,  that  he  had  better  consent  to  the  interview  in  order 
to  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  keyhole  scene. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Doloran  that  I  will  see  her  here." 

He  had  no  desire  to  traverse  the  gay  house  as  he  would 
have  to  do  to  reach  any  place  of  interview  appointed  by 
her. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  as  if  she  might 
have  been  waiting  in  the  next  passage  for  the  servant's 
answer,  Mrs.  Doloran  presented  herself.  Her  very  dress, 
devoid  as  it  was  of  taste,  or  becoming  color,  was  an  eye 
sore  to  her  nephew,  and  the  way  in  which  she  rust]ed  and 
rattled  her  ample  silken  skirts,  caused  an  aching  in  his 
ears  ;  but  he  saluted  her  respectfully,  and  waited  for  the 
announcement  of  her  errand. 

"  Alan  Carnew,"  she  had  evidently  worked  herself  up  to 
the  pitch  of  anger  at  which  hysterics  usually  supervened, 
bat  for  some  purpose  of  her  own.  she  seemed  determined 
t3  waive  the  hysterics  for  the  present,  if  not  indefinitely. 
*'  I  demand  this  instant  from  you  an  explanation  of  your 
conduct ;  what  do  you  mean  by  shutting  yourself  up  with 
a  strange  man  for  a  whole  hour  early  in  the  morning, 
going  off  after  that  for  a  week,  nobody  knows  where, 
and  having  during  your  absence  that  same  strange  man 
coming  here  asking  for  you,  and  when  you're  not  to  be 


A   FATAL   KESEMBLA2sTCE.  293 

liad,  asking  for  me,  just  to  know  how  your  health  is,  and 
when  I  told  him  that  you  had  the  health  of  all  fools, 
without  a  pain  or  an  ache  that  disturb  people  of  brains,  he 
just  bowed  and  thanked  me,  with  the  air  of  one  of  the 
rajahs  that  Ordotte  talks  about?  Now,  sir,  I  demand 
a  full  and  instant  explanation  of  all  this." 

Carnew  pursed  up  his  eyebrows  to  indicate  a  surprise, 
which  he  certainly  felt,  that  Mr.  Dutton — of  course  it  was 
he,  since  he  was  the  gentleman  who  had  been  closeted 
with  him,  though  not  for  an  hour,  on  the  morning  of  his 
departure — should  have  come  again  to  Kahandabed,  and 
only  for  such  a  purpose  as  his  aunt  stated.  Could  it  be 
that  he  had  brought  a  message  from  Ned  ?  But  no,  in 
that  case  he  would  not  have  asked  for  Mrs.  Doloran  ;  so, 
with  his  eyebrows  still  pursed,  and  his  whole  manner  in 
dicative  of  grave  wonder,  he  replied  : 

"  I  am  as  much  astonished  as  you  are,  madam,  that  in 
formation  of  my  health  should  be  the  single  object  of  any 
person's  visit  to  Rahandabed." 

"  Now,  Alan,  don't  provoke  me  to  something  desper 
ate.  You  know  I  have  not  Ordotte  to  soothe  and  protect 
me.  I  want  to  know  immediately  who  that  man  is?  " 

"  What  man  ?  "  questioned  Carnew,  with  perfectly 
simulated  innocence. 

Mrs.  Doloran  stamped  her  foot,  and  fairly  roared : 

"  The  man  who  called  here  yesterday,  and  who  was 
with  you  in  your  study  there,"  pointing  to  the  library- 
door,  "  the  morning  that  you  went  away  in  such  a  huff." 

Alan  stroked  his  mustache. 

"  If  you  really  saw  this  mysterious  man  yesterday,  and 
answered  his  question  about  my  health,  it  is  a  wonder  to 
me  that  you  did  not  then  avail  yourself  of  the  opportunity 
to  learn  his  name.  Certainly,  when  he  sent  his  request 
to  see  you  he  sent  his  card  with  it." 

"  No,  he  didn't ;  he  just  sent  a  request  to  see  me  with 
out  any  card,  and  told  me  to  my  face  that  it  was  only  be 
cause  he  could  not  see  you  that  he  asked  for  me." 


294  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  And  you  did  not  inquire  liis  name  ?  "  in  a  tone  full 
of  doubt  and  sarcasm. 

"  Do  you  think  I  was  so  stupid  as  not  to  ask  that  ?  I 
asked  it  the  first  thing  and  the  last  tiling,  but  he  wouldn't 
give  it.  He  smiled,  and  said  it  made  no  difference.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  That  he  is  to  be  admired  for  his  prudence  ;  that  he  is 
to  be  commended  for  not  pandering  to  a  foolish  woman's 
insensate  curiosity." 

Mrs.  Doloran  could  scarcely  speak  for  temper,  but 
there  must  have  been  some  still  more  powerful  motive  at 
work,  for  she  managed  to  prevent  a  violent  outbreak,  and 
said  as  firmly  as  her  raging  passion  would  allow  her  to 
do: 

"  Since  he  would  not  give  the  information  I  wanted,  I 
demand  it  from  you." 

"  Wha.t  information  ? " 

Knowing  of  how  little  avail  anger  and  firmness  had 
been  in  the  past  with  his  aunt,  when  she  was  as  decided 
as  she  seemed  to  be  now,  he  determined  to  try  an  entirely 
new  plan,  regardless  how  soon  it  brought  on  her  hysterics, 
for  in.  that  case  she  would  be  removed,  at  least  from  his 
presence. 

"  His  name,  booby — the  name  of  this  man  ?  " 

"  What  man  ? " 

And  thus  Alan  provokingly  kept  it  up,  affecting  complete 
ignorance  of  what  he  was  to  answer,  until  Mrs.  Doloran, 
fairly  beaten  on  her  own  ground,  and  beaten  in  such  an 
ignominious  fashion,  broke  down  at  last,  not  into  her 
usual  hysterics,  but  into  a  very  storm  of  crying. 

"  When  you  know  how  it  would  relieve  me,"  she  said, 
"  just  to  tell  me  his  name,  you  ungrateful  boy  that  I've 
loved,  and  loved,  and  loved—  '  but  Alan  had  shut  and 
locked  himself  into  his  study. 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  295 

XLIX. 

Ordotte  had  made  his  mysterious  journey  to  India  and  had 
returned,  not,  however,  to  New  York,  nor  yet  to  London, 
but,  directed  by  the  contents  of  Munson's  last  letter, 
to  faris.  To  Paris,  where  Mrs.  Brekbellew  was  still 
the  lovely  butterfly  of  fashion,  fluttering  around  the 
flame  of  destruction,  and  where  her  husband  was  fas", 
sinking  into  the  vortex  made  by  his  own  follies. 

While  he  had  that  kind  of  cunning  and  bravado  in 
small  and  mean  things  which  is  often  to  be  found  in  very 
weak  characters,  he  utterly  lacked  the  cunning  to 
save  himself  from  being  thoroughly  victimized,  and  the 
courage  to  command  his  wife  to  desist  from  her  extrava 
gant  course.  He  smarted  under  her  open  contempt  of 
him,  and  he  winced  beneath  the  extravagance  into  which 
she  forced  him,  but  he-  had  not  the  manhood  to  resist 
either. 

By  nature  he  was  economical  without  being  parsimo 
nious,  but  she  taunted  this  quality  in  him  to  such  a  degr.ee 
that  he  rushed  to  the  gaming-table,  with  tke  hope  that  his 
winnings  would  make  him  indifferent  to  her  folly. 

That  course  made  him  an  open  mark,  and  while  Mrs. 
Brekbellew,  by  reason  of  her  beauty  and  extravagance, 
was  the  boast  and  the  toast  in  fashionable  salons,  Mr. 
Brekbellew  was  to  be  found  nightly  staking  large  sums, 
and  accepting  his  losses — he  rarely  won — with  a  sort  of 
imbecile  indifference,  which  was  stimulated,  perhaps,  by 
his  deep,  and  often  secret  potations. 

Is'ed's  appealing  letter  had  been  carefully  forwarded  to 
Mrs.  Brekbellew,  and  she  had  received  it  before  she  was 
a  month  in  Paris ;  but  the  only  effect  it  produced  was  to 
make  her  laugh  quite  heartily  ;  so  heartily  that  her  hus 
band  heard  her  from  the  next  room,  and  he  ventured  to 
thrust  his  head  in  and  inquire  the  cause  of  the  mirth. 

"  Nothing  that  concerns  you,  this  time,"  was  her  light 
and  contemptuously  spoken  reply,  "  though  your  idiocy 
is  a  constant  source  of  mirth.  I  don't  know  wThat  I 


296  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

should  do,  if  you  were  to  get  brains  like  other  people.  I 
would  have  nothing  to  laugh  at." 

He  withdrew  before  she  had  quite  finished ;  her  sar 
casm  and  ridicule  pricked  him  like  pins  driven  deep  into 
tender  places,  but  he  had  not  the  courage  to  resent  it. 

"I  knew  that  would  send  him  back,  the  fool,"  she  so 
liloquized.  "  And  now,  Mrs.  Carnew,  you  have  come  to  the 
wrong  one  for  justice,  or  mercy.  I,  to  expose  myself  for 
the  sake  of  clearing  you,  give  an  opportunity  to  that 
idiot — "  pointing  to  the  room  into  which  her  husband 
had  retreated — "  to  taunt  and  perhaps  denounce  me  in 
revenge  for  all  my  reviling  of  him,  and  cause  myself  to 
be  thoroughly  hated  by  my  own  father  ?  Oh,  no !  I  should 
be  as  great  an  imbecile  as  Harry  Brekbellew  is,  if  I  did. 
You  swore  an  oath,  Mrs.  Carnew,  and  you  shall  have  to 
abide  by  it,  even  if  it  does  separate  your  husband  from 
you  forever.  It  is  only  fair  that  you  should  have  some 
unhappiness  in  your  married  life.  I  have  misery,  utter 
misery  in  mine.  I  hate  my  husband. 

For  an  instant  she  bowed  her  head  to  let  the  bitter  tears 
that  welled  into  her  eyes  have  way.  Then  she  roused 
herself,  tore  the  pitiful  little  letter  into  scraps,  flung  the 
latter  into  the  great  open  fire-place,  touched  them  into  a 
flame  with  a  match,  and  watched  until  the  last  shred  had 
gone  into  ashes. 

That  was  how  Ned's  appeal  was  answered. 

When  the  couple  had  been  four  months  in  Paris — he 
continuing  to  gamble  with  the  recklessness  of  a  madman, 
and  she  to  reign  a  very  queen  of  beauty  and  fashion — he 
wras  brought  up  in  short  order  by  a  very  angry  and  threat 
ening  letter  from  his  uncle  Brekbellew,  of  the  firm  of 
Brekbellew  &  Hepburn. 

"  What  are  these  reports  that  I  hear  ? "  the  old  gentle 
man  wrote  in  firm,  large,  black  characters,  "that  your 
gambling  losses  have  eaten  into  the  very  capital  of  your 
fortune,  and  that  just  ho\v  soon  the  gaming  houses  them 
selves  will  be  enriched  by  the  balance  of  the  capital  has 
been,  openly  discussed  by  every  roue  in  Paris,  and  that 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  297 

your  fine  wife  lias  taken  to  herself,  instead  of  your  escort, 
the  attendance  of  fashionable  connts  and  dukes,  and  out 
does  even  her  French  friends,  the  mesdames,  in  setting 
the  example  of  wifely  estrangement.  Are  these  reports 
true,  sir,  and  what  do  you  suppose  shall  be  my  course  if 
they  are  ?  I'll  throw  you  to  the  devil,  sir,  you  and  your 
fine  wife,  and  leave  every  pound  of  my  money  to  that 
other  scapegrace,  Charles  Brekbellew.  He  is  doing  well, 
sir ;  he  has  gone  jointly  into  some  railroad  enterprise  in 
America,  and  if  he  did  contradict  me  to  my  face,  and  not 
agree  with  my  opinions  on  public  matters,  at  least  he  has 
proved  himself  a  thrifty,  sensible  man. 

"  I  expected  to  have  my  bachelor  home  made 
bright  and  cheerful,  and  my  declining  age  rendered 
pleasant,  by  the  residence  of  you  and  your  wife  with 
me ;  but  as  it  is,  sir,  I  suppose  you  would  both  scorn  sucb 
a  proposition.  Either  write  immediately  that  you  are 
coming  to  live  with  me,  or  prepare  to  be  totally  disin 
herited. 

"  Your  indignant  uncle, 

"  HENRY  BREKBELLEW." 

That  letter  caused  young  Brekbellew  to  reflect — that  is, 
to  do  as  much  of  that  admirable  and  oft-commended  action 
as  his  little,  addled  brain  was  capable  of  doing.  lie  was 
going  to  the  devil ;  he  saw  that  in  a  sort  of  misty,  help 
less-way,  and  his  wife  did  not  care  how  soon  he  reached 
his  infernal  destination  ;  he  saw  that  also,  with  an  impotent 
rage.  A  couple  of  months  more  of  her  present  extrava 
gance  and  his  own  gambling  expanses,  unless  luck  should 
turn  in  his  favor,  would  quite  impoverish  him.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  her  fortune  to  expect.  On  her  father's 
death  it  would  be  very  large  ;  but  then,  after  all,  he 
could  not  be  certain  of  enjoying  that.  Mr.  Edgar's  openly 
expressed  dislike  of  him,  his  coldness  on  the  very  morning 
of  the  wedding,  and  the  meagre  dower  he  had  given  to 
his  daughter,  all  told  unmistakably,  even  to  his  weak  in 
tellect,  that  his  chances  of  enjoying  Mr.  Edgar's  wealth 


298  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

were  rather  poor.  If  the  gentleman  should  conveniently 
die,  he  might  bequeath  his  wealth  in  such  a  manner  that 
only  Edna  could  touch  it,  or  he  might,  as  even  affection 
ate  fathers  were  known  to  do  sometimes,  entirely  disin 
herit  her  because  of  her  marriage  without  his  approval. 
The  outlook  was  unpromising  in  every  direction  save  that 
proposed  by  his  uncle,  and,  regarding  himself,  he  was 
willing  enough  to  pursue  that  course.  A  quiet  life  in 
England  would  repair  in  his  health  and  purse  the  ravages 
made  by  his  Paris  excesses,  and  he  exerted  all  his  feeble 
determination  to  insist  that  his  wife  should  agree  with 
him.  But  he  dreaded  the  effort,  knowing  how  she  lived 
in  the  adulation  and  excitement  about  her  ;  he  felt  that  she 
would  scorn  his  uncle's  invitation,  and  he  groaned  as  he 
thought  of  the  contempt  with  which  she  would  treat  him. 
Still,  when  he  should  tell  her  how  near  he  was  to  financial 
ruin,  and  should  suggest  his  fears  regarding  her  own 
fortune,  he  thought  and  hoped  she  might  be  affected  in  the 
right  direction. 

To  fortify  himself  still  more  for  the  interview,  he  drank 
a  whole  bottle  of  wine,  and  then  sent  a  request  to  his 
wife  to  be  permitted  to  see  her. 

Mrs.  Brekbellaw  was  just  then  in  the  hands  of  her  maid, 
and  any  request  from  her  husband  was  so  unprecedented 
and  so  audacious — she  having  completely  humiliated  and 
snubbed  him  since  they  had  come  to  Paris — that  she  re 
plied  to  the  messenger  with  a  ludicrous  surprise  : 

"  Mr.  Brekbellew  wishes  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  girl  in  French,  which  language 
Mrs.  Brekbellew  had  also  used,  "  he  is  most  anxious  to  see 
inadame  immediately." 

"  When  Nanette  finishes,  he  may  come  in  ;  tell  him  I 
shall  ring  when  I  am  ready." 

So  poor  Brekbellew  waited,  like  the  obedient  cur  that  he 
was,  until  a  silvery  little  tinkle  told  him  that  he  might 
enter  his  wife's  dressing  apartment. 

She  was  seated  before  her  mirror  like  some  lovely 
vision,  and  the  infatuation  of  the  days  in  Eahandabed 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  290 

when  the  spell  of  her  beauty  ravished  him,  seemed  to  come 
to  him  again.  He  saw  so  little  of  her  recently,  that  his 
present  sight  of  her  was  almost  like  the  renewal  of  an  old 
acquaintance.  And  it  rendered  the  announcement  of  his 
errand  still  harder.  Indeed,  he  only  stood  before  her  in 
creasing  her  contempt  for  him,  by  his  awkward,  embar 
rassed  manner. 

"  Well,  Breky,"  that  was  one  of  her  derisive  terms  for 
him,  "  what  do  you  want  ?  Please  be  quick,  for  the 
Count  de  Chamont  is  to  be  here  this  evening.  I  expect 
him  every  moment."  A  slight  flush  rosa  to  Brekbellew's 
cheeks.  Weak  as  he  was,  he  winced  more  beneath  the 
taunt  implied  in  her  haste  to  forsake  him,  her  husband, 
for  the  company  of  another  of  his  sex,  than  at  her  open 
contempt  of  himself.  But  he  choked  down  his  resent 
ment,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do,  and  took  from  his 
pocket  his  uncle's  letter. 

"  Read  that,"  lie  said  meekly,  extending  it  to  her. 

She  did  so,  and,  having  finished  its  perusal,  looked  up, 
asking  lightly: 

"  Well,  what  has  all  that  to  do  with  me  ?" 

"  To  do  with  you  f  " 

Her  coolness  astonished  him  into  something  that  seemed 
like  spirit. 

"  Why,  madam,  it  has  to  do  with  your  means  of  living. 
In  a  couple  of  months  more  at  the  rate  of  our  living  here, 
I  shall  be  a  beggar.  Has  not  that  something  to  do  with 
you  ? " 

"  Why,  Breky,  you  poor  fool !  that  is  the  very  thing  I 
want  you  to  become ;  then  I  can  write  to  ray  father  with 
a  good  grace  that  you  have  ruined  me  by  your  gambling 
excesses,  that  I  cannot  live  with  you  any  longer  ;  and  he 
will  either  come  and  take  me  home,  or  come  and  allow 
me  to  continue  to  live  here.  Ills  fortune  is  ample  enough 
for  all  my  wants." 

Brekbellew's  little  spirit  still  sustained  him. 

"Perhaps  you  ought  not  to  be  so  sure  of  his  fortune. 
He  didn't  behave  very  handsomely  when  you  were  mar- 


300  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

ried,  and  lie  may  carry  liis  dislike  to  the  husband  yon 
chose,  so  far  as  to  leave  you  to  the  beggary  caused  as  much 
by  your  own  extravagance,  as  by  your  husband's  gambling." 

She  laughed — a  long,  low,  musical  ripple — before  she 
replied,  shaking  her  head  at  the  same  time  in  a  saucy,  co 
quettish  way,  that  to  even  the  poor  wight  before  her, 
was  most  aggravating : 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Breky ;  as  you  always  are  when 
you  attempt  to  use  your  poor  little  brains  in  the  way  of 
forethought,  or  reflection  ;  I  am  my  father's  only  child, 
and  it  is  you  he  dislikes,  not  me.  He  will  be  so  rejoiced 
when  he  learns  that  I  do  not  care  for  you ;  that  1  have 
discovered  he  was  right  in  his  estimate  of  you,  a  poor, 
little,  contemptuous  imbecile,  that  no  woman  with  ordinary 
brains  could  possibly  esteem,  that  he  will  instantly  take 
me  to  his  heart,  and  his  home,  and  his  fortune  again." 

For  once,  the  poor  little  creature's  temper  was  fairly 
aroused.  His  wife's  lash  had  cut  so  deep,  that,  like  the 
trodden  worm,  he  had  turned  at  last ;  the  fumes  of  the 
wine  were  also  rising  to  his  brain,  and  he  actually  almost 
threateningly  advanced  to  her,  at  which  she  rose,  and  con 
fronted  him  with  exceeding  dignity,  while  he  retorted  : 

"  Who  was  it  that  wrote  to  the  poor,  little,  contemptu 
ous  imbecile,  that  no  woman  with  ordinary  brains  could 
esteem,  to  come  to  Weewald  Place  and  propose  to  her, 
that  she  was  ready  and  eager  to  marry  him.  Who  did 
that  unwomanly  thing,  answer  me  that,  madam  '?  " 

But  Mrs.  Brekbellew  replied  with  great  stateliness  : 

"  Have  you  the  letter  which  contains  that  unwomanly 
proposition  ? " 

The  next  to  the  last  word  was  pronounced  with  sar 
castic  emphasis. 

"  No ;  fool  that  I  was  to  give  it  up  to  you,  after  we 
were  married." 

"  Then  don't  taunt  people  with  statements  that  you  can't 
substantiate." 

"  Why  did  you  marry  me  ? "  resumed  Brekbellew,  the 
wine,  and  his  unwonted  temper,  giving  him  extraordinary 


A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  301 

courage :  "  You  were  rich  and  did  not  not  need  my 
money  ;  you  never  cared  for  me.  Why  in  thunder,  madam, 
did  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"Why  ? "  she  repeated  with  provoking  deliberation  pnd 
calmness,  "  because  I  loved  Alan  Carnew,  and  hearing 
that  he  was  about  to  marry  Ked  Edgar,  I  would  not  give 
her  the  satisfaction  of  having  a  husband  before  /had  one. 
You  were  the  most  convenient  suitor  at  the  time,  and  you 
evinced  the  dog-like  qualities  of  faithfulness  and  obedience 
which  always  mark  the  model  husband  ;  hence,  I  proposed 
to  you."  With  another  long,  low,  silvery  ripple  of 
laughter. 

"  And  you  actually  married  me  without  loving  me  in 
the  least,  without  even  meaning  that  show  of  affection 
with  which  you  greeted  me  in  Weewald  Place  ? " 

"  Actually,  Breky,  actually." 

"  Then  you  are  a  devil,  madam,  and  the  sooner  I  go 
to  my  uncle,  and  tell  him  how  /was  duped,  and  forced  by 
your  very  treatment  of  me  to  the  gambler's  life  I  am 
leading,  the  better  for  me.  He  will  recommend  a  separa 
tion  instantly,  and  I  shall  adopt  his  recommendation." 

She  retorted,  but  in  the  calm,  passionless  voice  she  had 
used  throughout : 

"  And  you,  sir,  are  a  deceiver,  and  the  sooner  I  go  to 
my  father,  and  tell  him  how  /  was  duped  into  marrying 
a  man  who  had  deceived  and  deserted  a  poor  French  girl, 

leaving  her  and  her  child  to  die  in  the  village  of  C , 

the  better." 

Brekbellew  retreated  as  if  he  was  shot.  That  secret  he 
deemed  so  safe,  not  having  heard  a  word  from  any  quar 
ter  which  connected  his  name  with  his  unfortunate  vic 
tim.  How  did  his  wife,  of  all  others,  obtain  possession  of 
it?  And  he  continued  to  stare  at  her,  speechless  and 
aghast. 

She  resumed,  having  for  a  moment  silently  enjoyed  his 
discomfiture. 

"  That  was  your  secret,  and  I  respected  it.  It  was  re 
vealed  to  me  before  I  married  yen,  and  the  writer  im- 


302  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

plored  me  not  to  risk  my  own  happiness  by  wedding  a 
man  so  lost  to  every  sense  of  honor,  so  heartless  as  you 
were 

"  Josephine  herself  told  you,"  burst  from  Brekbellew. 

"You  are  mistaken;  I  did  not  hear  a  syllable  from 
Josephine ;  but,  as  I  was  going  to  say  when  you  inter 
rupted  me,  I  never  intended  to  reproach  you  with  it ;  I 
never  intended  to  let  you  know  it  was  in  my  possession, 
but  this  evening  you  have  driven  yourself  upon  it.  Now 
take  your  course  :  return  to  your  uncle  if  you  choose,  but 
do  not  include  me  in  any  of  your  plans." 

She  rang  the  bell  for  Nanette,  and  poor,  little,  crestfallen, 
dismayed  Brekbellew  retired  from  the  apartment,  like 
the  miserable  whipped  cur  that  he  was,  and  she  descended 
to  the  elegant  salon. 

An  hour  later,  and  she  was  surrounded  by  her  admir 
ers.  She  seemed  to  be  in  excellent  spirits,  giving  out 
witty  French  repartee  with  a  clever  archness  surprising 
in  one  to  whom  the  language  was  not  a  mother  tongue, 
and  eclipsing  by  her  beauty  every  French  woman  pres 
ent. 

A  servant  brought  her  a  card.  She  glanced  at  it,  look 
ing  not  quite  pleased  when  she  read  the  name,  and  seem 
ing  for  the  moment  to  hold  some  mental  debate.  Then 
she  gave  an  assent,  and  in  a  few  moments,  Ordotte,  smil 
ing,  gracious,  and  with  as  distinguished  an  air  as  marked 
any  of  the  Frenchmen  of  title  in  the  salon,  presented 
himself. 

L. 

Mrs.  Brekbellew,  not  withstand  ing  her  secret  dissatisfac 
tion  at  meeting  any  one  from  Rahaiidabed,  and  particu 
larly  Ordotte,  of  whom  she  had  always  a  strange,  undefin- 
able  dread,  gave  to  him  a  most  cordial  welcome,  and 
presented  him  with  charming  grace  to  every  one  in  the 
company.  Her  secret  displeasure  arose  from  her  fear  that 
Ned  might  not  have  continued  to  keep  her  oath,  though 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  303 

in  that  case  she  was  prepared  herself  to  swear  a  hundred 
oaths,  if  necessary,  to  her  own  innocence,  and  she  doubted 
not,  now  that  Mackay  was  dead,  and  her  own  previous 
plans  being  so  well  laid,  that  she  would  be  able  to  prove  it, 
at  least  to  her  father,  should  the  story  ever  reach  him. 

Ordotte  exerted  himself  to  charm,  and  being  quite  con 
versant  with  the  language,  having  been  educated  in  Paris, 
he  succeeded,  as  he  usually  did  when  he  chose  to  do  so. 

Mrs.  Brekbellew  forgot,  in  the  affability  and  charm  of 
his  manner,  all  her  fears,  and  she  threw  herself  into  the 
pleasure  of  his  society  with  the  same  zest  that  others  were 
doing. 

In  the  middle  of  one  of  those  accounts  of  mysterious 
incidents  which  take  their  rise  from  the  lightest  trifle,  and 
yet  sometimes  lead  to  consequences  that  shake  a  throne, 
he  had  paused,  ostensibly  to  wipe  his  brow  with  his  hand 
kerchief,  but  really  to  watch  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  for  he  had 
invented  the  very  story  he  was  telling,  and  was  leading 
it  up  to  a  certain  point  in  order  that  he  might  have  an 
opportunity  to  say  something  else. 

She  was  listening  to  him,  her  eyes  glistening,  and  her 
pretty  lips  apart  in  intense  and  delighted  curiosity. 

"  As  1  was  saying,"  he  resumed,  withdrawing  his  gaze 
from  her  and  looking  about  him  carelessly  for  a  moment, 
"  the  strangest  things  happen  in  the  most  trifling  way. 
Just  from  the  fact  01  my  having  made  an  acquaintance,  at 
first  a  mere  prosy  acquaintance,  in  India,  consequences 
have  ensued  that  have  changed,  not  only  the  whole  tenor 
of  my  life,  but  actually  caused  me  to  leave  America  on  a 
a  second  and  most  mysterious  journey  to  that  land  of 
rajahs  arid  tigers.  And  while  there  this  time,  I  had  the 
singular  fortune  to  meet  one  of  those  old  wizards  who  seem 
occasionally  to  do  such  startling  things.  He  appeared  to 
favor  me,  possibly  because  I  had  been  in  the  country  be 
fore,  and  knew  somewhat  how  to  humor  him;  and  one 
of  the  souvenirs  which  he  gave  me  was  a  sort  of  essence, 
looking  merely  like  colored  water,  but  exceedingly  frag 
rant." 


304:  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

While  he  spoke,  he  took  out  of  a  leather  case,  in  his 
breast  pocket,  a  vial  not  more  than  a  half-inch  in  length. 
It  sparkled  as  he  held  it  up,  and  when  he  took  out  its  tiny 
stopper,  the  odor  was  almost  overpowering  for  an  instant. 
Everybody  bent  forward,  aglow  from  surprise  and  inter 
est,  but  Mrs.  Brekbellew  seemed  to  be  fairly  breathless. 

"This  essence,"  Ordotte  continued,  "is  for  the  purpose 
of  making  marks  on  human  flesh."  A  sort  of  shudder 
went  through  the  little  circle,  which  he  perceiving,  smiled, 
and  hastened  to  add,  "  not  any  mark  to  torture,  but  a  mark 
for  some  reason  to  be  made  without  being  afterwards  de 
tected  until  tbis  essence  is  again  used,  when  the  mark, 
whatever  it  may  have  been,  stands  out  once  more  distinctly 
for  a  few  moments  and  then  disappears.  Suppose  we  try 
it  on  the  wrist  of  some  lady  present?  Who  knows," 
laughingly,  "  but  we  may  get  at  some  lost  fortune  in  this 
wTay,  or  some  romantic  history.  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  will 
you  give  me  the  privilege  of  putting  it  upon  one  of  your 
wrists  ? " 

Laughing  and  disclaiming  against  the  fact  of  any  secret 
mark  being  found  upon  her,  she  extended  her  pretty 
wrist,  the  Count  de  Chamont  gallantly  unclasping  her 
bracelet. 

"  We  will  take  the  left  wrist,  if  you  please,"  said  Or 
dotte  ;  "  being  nearer  to  the  heart,  it  wrould  be  more 
certain  to  figure  in  any  romance."  And  the  gallant  count 
immediately  unclasped  the  heavy  bracelet  of  that  wrist. 

Ordotte  poured  a  single  drop  upon  the  beautifully- 
moulded  and  snow-white  wrist  extended  to  him,  and  it 
was  singular  how  far  the  one  drop  seemed  to  diffuse 
itself,  spreading  a  full  inch  in  every  direction,  so  that  if 
there  had  been  a  secret  mark  anywhere  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  wrist,  and  the  essence  possessed  the  power  claimed 
for  it,  it  must  have  shown  distinctly.  But  nothing  ap 
peared  save  a  slight  discoloration  of  the  £kin,  for  an  instant, 
and  Mrs.  Brekbellew  withdrew  her  hand,  saying  smilingly  : 

"  I  told  you,  you  would  find  nothing  there." 

"  Shall  we  try  the  left  wrist  of  some  other  lady  ? " 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  305 

asked  Ordotte  with  ludicrous  earnestness.  "  I  insist 
that  it  must  be  the  left  wrist,  for  never  was  romance 
spoiled  yet  by  anything  so  far  removed  from  the  heart  as 
the  right  wrist." 

Another  pretty  hand  was  extended  to  him,  and  he  again 
applied  his  mysterious  test,  but  with  no  other  effect  than 
it  had  upon  Mrs.  Brekbellew. 

.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  will  some  gentleman  permit  me  to 
mark  letters  upon  his  hand,  or  wrist,  in  order  to  test  all 
the  powers  that  are  claimed  for  this  wonderful  sub 
stance.  " 

The  Count  de  Chamont  obligingly  extended  his  hand, 
and  Ordotte  took  from  his  leather-case  a  tiny  brush  hav 
ing  an  ivory  handle.  Dipping  this  into  the  essence,  he 
proceeded  to  make  on  the  back  of  the  Count's  hand  a  large 
capital  letter  C.  It  stood  out  distinctly,  showing  a  dull- 
red  color,  and,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  began 
to  fade,  until  not  a  trace  of  it  could  be  discerned.  Then 
Ordotte  poured  a  single  drop  of  the  essence  upon  the 
spot,  as  he  had  done  on  the  wrists  of  the  ladies,  and  again 
the  dull-red  C  came  plainly  forth,  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
died  away. 

After  that,  Ordotte  affected  to  be  anxious  about  any 
further  waste  of  his  precious  essence,  and  he  put  it  back 
into  his  leather-case  ;  and  to  the  remark  that  secret  marks 
were  rarely  placed  upon  the  wrist,  he  answered  that  the 
fact  of  their  being  rendered  so  secret  by  the  essence  might 
make  the  wrist  a  very  convenient  and  probable  place  to 
mark. 

Then  he  turned  the  conversation  into  the  channel  into 
which,  for  a  purpose  of  his  own,  he  had  caused  it  to  drift 
before  he  had  spoken  of  the  essence. 

"  We  were  speaking  about  the  part  that  trifles  play  in 
the  most  important  affairs.  Nature  has  strange  plans  of 
her  own  in  every  one  of  them,  often  making  the  con 
sequences  that  ensue  only  the  retributive  justice  for  some 
law  transgressed  ;  just  as  in  her  similitudes  she  has  a  pur 
pose  for  an  end,  though,  before  the  end  be  attained,  an 


306  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

innocent  person  may  have  to  suffer  for  guilt  of  which  he 
or  she  knows  nothing." 

He  turned  his  eyes  quite  carelessly  to  Mrs.  Brekbellew' s 
face. 

"  Which  fact  brings  to  my  mind,"  he  pursued,  keeping 
his  eyes  upon  her  face,  the  singular  likeness  you  bear, 
Mrs.  Brekbellew,  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  and  the  unpleasant  cir 
cumstances  in  which  you  might  have  found  yourself  had 
you  been  in  Rahandabed  three  months  ago." 

The  color  fled  from  her  countenance  so  suddenly  and 
so  completely  that  it  looked  ghastly,  and  it  occasioned 
more  than  one  comment  of  surprise  and  curiosity  among 
those  about  her.  But  she  recovered  herself  in  an  instant, 
and  forced  a  smile  to  her  lips,  as  she  said  : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  How  could  my  resemblance  to 
Mrs.  Carnew  cause  me  any  unpleasantness  ? " 

Had  not  her  betrayal  of  herself,  a  moment  before,  by 
her  startling  loss  of  color,  convinced  Ordotte  that  the 
tenor  of  his  own  shrewd  thoughts  about  her  was  correct, 
he  might  have  been  imposed  upon  by  her  present  appear 
ance  ;  she  seemed  so  full  of  a  pleasant,  innocent  surprise, 
and  nothing  more  ;  even  as  it  was,  lie  hesitated  a  moment 
before  saying  what  was  upon  his  lips,  lest  he  might  be 
mistaken,  and  his  bold  stroke  be  a  venture  even  too  deep 
for  him  ;  but  his  instant's  reflection  convinced  him,  and 
he  answered  very  slowly,  very  significantly,  and  looking 
straight  into  her  eyes  all  the  while  : 

"With  your  living  likeness  before  all  her  accusers, 
Mrs.  Carnew  might  have  been  able  to  show  them  that 
suspicion  could,  with  equal  propriety,  have  attached  itself 
to  you." 

Mrs.  Brekbellew  fairly  held  her  breath  in  her  desperate 
effort  to  show  no  outward  sign  this  time,  but  it  seemed  for 
an  instant  as  if  her  very  heart  would  burst  in  the  agony  of 
the  endeavor,  and  despite  all  that  she  could  do,  her  voice 
trembled,  as  she  said : 

"  I  know  now  to  what  you  refer — poor  Ned's  unfortunate 
story.  She  wrote  to  me  about  it." 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  307 

"  She  wrote  to  you,"  repeated  Ordott'e  in  those  same 
slow,  significant  tones  which  made  Mrs.  Brekbellew  feel 
like  strangling  him,  "and  you,  no  doubt,  replied,  com 
forting  her  and  sympathizing  with  her." 

She  could  endure  no  more ;  she  felt  that  if  one  word 
further  was  to  reach  her  from  his  detested  lips,  she  should 
scream,  or  faint,  or  do  some  other  startling  thing ;  so  she 
rose,  making  some  remark  about  the  intense  heat  of  the 
room,  and  taking  the  arm  of  the  Count  de  Chamont,  who 
had  also  risen  to  assist  her,  she  went  into  one  of  the  ad 
joining  apartments. 

Ordotte  was  secretly  delighted.  He  had  settled  in  his 
own  mind,  beyond  the  reach  of  any  further  doubt,  the 
fact  that  Mrs.  Brekbellew  was  the  wife  of  Mackay,  and 
not  Mrs.  Carnew;  and  he  felt  assured  that  when  he 
should  send  the  next  morning  a  request  for  a  private  inter 
view  with  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  he  would  not  be  refused,  as 
he  might  have  been,  had  he  not  touched  so  keenly  her 
sense  of  safety  that  evening ;  so,  with  the  happy  air  of  a 
man  who  has  won  an  unexpected  triumph,  he  addressed 
himself  to  the  rest  of  his  little  audience,  and  interested 
them  so  much  that  they  forgot  to  comment  upon  Mrs. 
Brekbellew. 

That  lady  had  requested  to  be  left  alone,  and  retiring 
to  a  part  of  the  house  where  no  sound  of  her  gay  com 
pany  could  reach  hear,  she  strove  to  calm  and  reassure 
herself. 

That  Ordotte  believed  she  should  have  been  the  one 
accused,  instead  of  Ned,  she  had  read  unmistakably  in  his 
eyes,  but  how  did  he  know,  she  asked  herself  over  and 
over.  Had  Ned  then  broken  her  oath,  and  told  him,  and 
had  he  come  to  Paris  to  beard  her  with  her  guilt  ?  But 
why  taka  this  roundabout  course,  if  such  were  his  object  ? 
Why  not  openly  and  briefly  accuse  her  ?  Did  her  father 
know  ?  Had  Ned  told  him  also  ?  And  then  she  remem 
bered  how  particularly  cold  and  short  was  Mr.  Edgar's 
last  letter. 

She   beat  her  foot  into  the   carpet  in  her  rage,  and 


308  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

clasped  her  hands  together,  until  the  nails  cut  into  the 
flesh ;  but  all  brought  her  no  help.  On  every  side  she 
seemed  to  see  a  confirmation  of  her  fears  that  ISTed  had 
broken  her  oath  and  told  everything,  and  that  nothing 
she  could  do  would  avert  now  the  guilt  from  her  own 
shoulders. 

Then  she  reverted  to  ISTed's  letter,  which  had  been  so 
explicit  and  so  touching ;  Mrs.  Carnew  had  detailed  every 
link  in  the  circumstantial  evidence  against  her,  so  Mrs. 
Brekbellew  was  in  full  possession  of  every  particular, 
from  the  arrival  of  the  woman  Bunmer  with  the  child, 
and  the  statement  of  the  minister,  to  .Ned's  own  departure 
from  Rahandabed.  And  as  she  thought  of  it  all,  still 
beating  her  foot  and  clinching  her  hands,  she  strove  to 
reassure  herself  by  saying  : 

"  Why  am  I  such  a  coward  ?  Since  every  one  of  them, 
from  Bunmer  to  that  dolt  Hayrnan,  took  Ned  for  me, 
why  cannot  I  face  all  this  out  ?  My  word,  my  oath,  if 
necessary,  will  have  as  much  weight  with  my  father  as 
!N  ed's  will.  Why  do  I  let  his  random  remarks  cow  me 
in  this  manner?  And  I  shall  not.  I  shall  send  word  to 
these  people  below  that  I  am  indisposed,  and  then  I  shall 
have  him  up  here,  and  extract  the  worst  from  him,  and 
show  him  my  scorn  and  indignation  for  what  he  has  had 
the  effrontery  to  say  to  me." 

Thus  Ordotte  found  himself  privately  requested  to  go 
above  stairs,  and  a  prudent  servant  conducted  him  to 
Mrs.  Brekbellew. 

She  was  seated,  and  in  the  subdued  light  of  the  room 
he  could  hardly  tell  the  difference  between  the  color  of 
her  face  and  the  white  hue  of  her  dress. 

With  a  motion,  she  desired  him  to  take  a  chair  near 
her  own,  and  then  she  said  in  a  tone  of  cold,  and  offended 
dignity  : 

u  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Ordotte,  to  give  you  the  op 
portunity  of  explaining  what  you  said  to  me  this  evening : 
why  the  mere  fact  of  my  resembling  Mrs.  Carnew  should 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  309 

make  it  possible  for  me  to  be  accused  of  what  she  may 
have  done  ? " 

Ordotte  answered  with  the  easy  manner  of  one  reply- 
•  i  •  • 

ing  to  the  most  ordinary  question : 

"  The  only  explanation  of  what  I  have  said  is  to  accuse 
you  boldly,  madam,  of  what  has  been  visited  on  poor, 
slandered  Mrs.  Carnew  ;  you  were  the  wife  of  Mackay, 
and  you  are  the  mother  of  his  child." 

She  rose  then,  in  her  haste  and  anger  upsetting  her 
chair,  and  he  also  stood  up,  but  in  the  same  calm,  easy 
way  in  which  he  had  spoken. 

"  You  forget  yourself,  sir ;  you  transcend  every  privi 
lege  that  admission  to  my  presence  has  given  you,  and  I 
can  only  regard  your  statement  as  proceeding  from  a 
brain  disordered  by  wine  or  by  a  madman's  frenzy." 

She  strove  hard  to  speak  with  the  same  cool  dignity 
with  which  she  had  first  addressed  him,  that  she  mi^ht  the 
better  impose  upon  him,  and  force  him  at  least  to  a  par 
tial  retraction  of  what  he  had  said  ;  but  in  spite  of  all  her 
efforts,  her  voice  and  her  form  trembled 

Ordotte,  looking  at  'her  sharply,  deemed  it  as  well  to 
come  to  his  point  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Brekbellew  " — his  voice  had  changed  to  such  a 
deep,  firm  tone,  it  seemed  to  be  like  another  person 
speaking : 

"  All  your  dissimulation  with  me  is  wasted.  I  know 
what  you  have  done,  and  had  you  not  sent  for  me  to 
night,  I  should  have  sent  to  you  to-morrow  morning  for 
the  purpose  of  saying  what  I  shall  say  now.  I  desire 
from  you,  over  your  own  signature,  a  statement  to  the 
effect  that  you  were  the  wife  of  Mackay,  that  you  are 
the  mother  of  his  child,  and  the  successive  steps  by  which 
you  contrived  to  have  Mrs.  Carnew  accused  of  all  that 
you  have  done.  I  desire  this  statement  in  order  to  show 
it  to  Alan  Carnew.  As  you  have  been  the  cause  of  his 
separation  from  his  wife,  so  you  must  effect  their  recon 
ciliation.  I  also  desire  this  statement  to  show  to  Mr. 
Edgar." 


310  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"Pray,"  she  said  with  tremulous  sarcasm^  "is  there 
any  one  else  you  desire  to  show  this  statement  to  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  in  the  same  deep,  firm  voice ;  "  I 
shall  spare  you  any  further  disgrace.  As  my  object  alone 
is  to  prove  Mrs.  Carnew's  innocence  to  those  who  are 
nearest  to  her,  I  shall  be  satisfied  in  attaining  that.  Your 
husband  and  your  husband's  relatives  shall  be  left  in 
ignorance  of  your  prior  marriage." 

"  Mr.  Ordotte,"  she  fairly  hissed  his  name  ;  "  I  regret 
that  you  have  come  upon  such  a  foolish  errand.  If  I  had 
forgotten  myself  so  far  as  to  marry  in  secret  a  gardener's 
worthless  son,  and  if  I  had  given  birth,  also  in  secret,  to 
his  child,  I  say,  if  I  had  done  these  degrading  things,  do 
you  think  I  would  be  so  unjust  to  my  own  interests  as  to 
grant  what  you  so  coolly  request  ?  You  certainly  have 
reckoned  most  insanely,  and  since  that  alone,  to  use  your 
own  words,  was  the  object  of  your  intended  call  upon  me, 
we  shall  consider  this  interview  ended." 

She  crossed  to  put  her  hand  upon  the  bell,  but  he  in 
tercepted  her. 

"  Although,"  he  said,  with  an  air  and  tone  which  she 
could  not  oppose,  "  the  sole  object  of  my  desire  to  see 
you  was,  and  is,  to  obtain  the  proof  of  Mrs.  Carnew's  in 
nocence,  still,  I  have  something  more  to  say,  and  as  that 
something  more  will  be  rather  lengthy,  I  advise  you  to  be 
seated." 

He  drew  a  chair  forward  for  her.  She  motioned  it 
disdainfully  away.  He  bowed,  and  resumed  : 

"  A  gentleman  was  once  placed,  through  the  ill-feeling 
and  spite  of  his  brother,  in  such  circumstances  as  not  to 
know  his  own  infant  daughter  from  the  infant  daughter 
of  his  brother,  whose  wife  was  a  low  woman  of  ill-repute. 
The  brother  asserted  that  he  knew,  having  privately 
marked  the  child  with  a  certain  subtle  essence  that  had 
been  obtained  from  India  in  some  way  by  one  of  his 
riotous  companions.  The  peculiarity  of  this  marking 
essence  was  that  only  for  the  few  moments  which  it  lay 
upon  the  flesh  could  be  detected  whatever  might  have 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  311 

been  imprinted  there,  and  as  the  brother  refused  to  say 
where  he  had  marked  the  child,  but  that  somewhere  upon 
her  person  were  the  letters  E.  E.,  and  that  he  alone  had 
the  secret  of  reproducing  these  letters,  the  father  was  un 
able  to  tell  which  was  his  o\vn  child.  The  brother, 
having  lost  his  wife  shortly  after  the  birth  of  the  chil 
dren,  departed  to  some  foreign  country,  and  the  unhappy 
father,  fearing  to  do  injustice  to  his  own  child,  took  both 
the  infants." 

He  paused  abruptly  because  of  the  labored  breathing 
of  Mrs.  Brekbellew.  With  a  vague  dread  of  she  knew 
not  what,  she  was  linking  his  story  with  the  senseless 
marking  scene  of  an  hour  before,  and  the  very  gleam  of 
his  eyes — those  eyes  that  even  in  Rahandabed  seemed  to 
be  constantly  reading  her  through — now  acting  upon  her 
like  a  painful  probe,  made  her  almost  unconsciously 
breathe  hard  and  heavily. 

"  You  had  better  be  seated,"  he  said,  again  attempting 
to  place  a  chair  for  her,  but  she  waved  it  away  as  she 
had  done  before,  and  he  resumed : 

"The  brother  went  abroad,  and  at  length  to  India, 
where  he  met  some  one  who  became  in  time  his  most 
confidential  friend.  To  this  friend  the  brother  in  his 
softened  moments,  which  only  came  when  his  health 
was  broken,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  regret  for  the 
happiness  that  in  his  earlier  years  he  had  thrown  so  ruth 
lessly  aside,  opened  his  heart.  He  told  the  story  of  what 
his  own  malice  had  accomplished  with  regard  to  his 
brother's  child,  and  at  the  same  time  confessed  that  he 
could  not  conquer  himself  sufficiently  to  take  any  steps 
of  reparation  ;  but  he  said  that  after  his  death  his  friend 
might  tell  all  he  knew,  and  he  told  this  friend  in  what 
part  of  India  this  marking  essence  had  been  procured. 

"  Strange,  very  strange  circumstances,  sent  this  friend 
to  the  very  house  which  sheltered  two  young  girls  mar 
vellously  alike  in  appearance,  bearing  the  same  name,  and 
in  every  particular  corroborating  the  story  told  by  this 
brother.  The  friend  marked  it  all,  and  waited.  He  knew 


312  A.    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

that  his  lips  were  sealed  until  he  should  hear  of  the  death 
of  this  brother.  From  the  time  that  he  had  left  India 
he  had  heard  nothing  directly  of  the  brother,  and  only 
very  indirectly,  that  the  latter  had  disappeared  no  one 
seemed  to  know  where. 

"  At  length,  when  a  time  came  in  which  one  of  those 
young  girls  was  vilely  accused,  and,  the  friend  thought 
from  his  careful  observation  of  her  character,  unjustly  so, 
he  conceived  the  idea  of  going  to  India  and  searching  for 
some  trace  of  this  brother.  lie  did,  but  found  nothing 
more  than  that  he  had  left  the  country  in  an  exceedingly 
feeble  condition  of  health,  shortly  after  the  friend  himself 
had  gone,  and  it  was  supposed  he  must  have  died  in  some 
foreign  hospital.  That  information  the  friend  deemed 
sufficient  to  free  him  from  his  oath,  and  having  secured 
the  marking  essence,  he  came  to  Paris  to  test  it  first  on 
one  of  the  young  ladies  to  whom  he  has  referred.  He  did 
so  to-night,  and  by  it  he  has  made  the  discovery  that  she 
who  passes  for  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter  is  not  sustained  by 
any  proof.  Do  you  now  recognize  the  characters  in  my 
story,  Mrs.  Brekbellew?  The  gentleman  of  whom  I 
spoke  is  Mr.  Edgar ;  his  brother  is  your  father,  and  the 
friend  is  your  humble  servant :  "  bowing  profoundly  as 
he  said  the  last  words. 

"  I  refused  to  use  any  more  of  the  essence  to-night,  lest 
there  might  not  be  sufficient  to  make  the  test  upon  the 
wrist  of  Mrs.  Carnew." 

He  stopped,  but  his  listener  did  not  answer  him.  She 
seemed  frozen  in  her  horrified  amazement,  and  he  fancied 
that  her  eyes,  beautiful  as  they  were,  resembled  the  wild 
eyes  of  frantic  animals  he  had  seen  in  the  jungles. 

But,  at  last  her  voice  came  to  her ;  a  broken,  husky, 
and' utterly  changed  voice. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you.  This  tale  is  an  invented  Indian 
story,  like  those  you  told  in  Rahaiidabed." 

He  bowed,  as  he  replied  : 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment  to  my  veracity,  but 
you  shall  have  the  proof  of  the  truth  of  my  story  in  a  few 


A     FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  313 

weeks,  when  not  only  Rahandabed,  but  Paris  and  London 
shall  gossip  of  the  downfall  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  who  had 
been  a  usurper  all  her  life." 

She  turned  from  him  and  wrung  her  hands.  O  God  ! 
how  her  cruel  wrongs  to  another  were  about  to  be  visited 
upon  her  own  head.  Then  she  turned  back  and  extended 
her  clasped  hands  to  him  in  entreaty  : 

"  Have  you  no  pity  for  me  ?  I  never  did  you  a  wrong. 
What  will  you  gain  by  exposing  me  2  " 

"  Had  you  any  pity  for  her  whose  happiness  you  have 
blighted  ?  And  you  ask  what  I  shall  gain  by  exposing 
you  ?  I  shall  gain  the  approval  of  my  own  conscience  for 
having  unmasked  evil.  No,  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  I  have  no 
pity  for  you  further  than  to  refrain  from  proceeding  to 
the  extreme  measure  of  acquainting  your  husband  with 
what  you  did  prior  to  your  marriage  to  him,  and  that  you 
are  not  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Edgar.  And  further,  I  shall 
guarantee  that  Mr.  Edgar  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnew  will 
preserve  the  same  silence.  I  know,  that  in  consideration 
of  all  that  I  shall  tell  them,  they  will  be  easily  won  to  the 
pledge  I  shall  exact  from  them.  The  only  source  you  will 
have  to  fear  will  be  the  gossip  of  Rahandabed,  for,  in 
justice  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  the  whole  truth  must  be  told,  not 
alone  to  the  mistress  of  that  place,  but  also  to  each  of  the 
guests.  However,  gossip  so  distant  may  not  be  wafted 
here,  and  if  it  should  be,  perhaps  your  fertile  brain  may 
find  some  means  of  depriving  it  of  its  effect.  This  is  the 
utmost  I  can  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  and  this  I 
pledge  myself  to  do,  if  you  will  give  me  the  clear,  written 
statement  for  which  I  have  asked." 

He  retreated  a  little,  as  if  he  considered  all  argument 
at  an  end,  and  she  turned  away  as  if  to  reflect  upon  his 
proposition ;  but  she  was  unable  to  think.  Her  head 
seemed  to  be  on  h're,  even  while  her  limbs  were  trembling 
as  if  from  a  chill,  and  she  had  a  sort  of  wild  desire  to 
clutch  at  something,  like  a  person  falling  from  a  height. 
At  length  she  compelled  her  thoughts  to  fall  into  some 
thing  like  order.  What  if  she  still  braved  it  all  by  a  firm 


314  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

denial  1  Since  E"ed  had  been  mistaken  for  her  by  the  very 
persons  who  alone  could  have  told  the  difference,  what 
proof  of  her  guilt  could  be  obtained  apart  from  her  own 
admission  ? 

There  was  indeed  one,  Annie  Mackay,  who  she  feared 
could  be  got  to  testify  against  her,  if  she  had  not  become 
the  crazy,  though  harmless  creature  her  brother's  suicide 
had  made  her.  And  that  she  still  remained  demented 
Mrs.  Brekbellew  was  well  aware,  for  in  every  letter  she 
wrote  to  Mr.  Edgar,  she  requested  to  be  informed  of 
Annie's  condition,  and  he  as  often  answered  that  she  was 
still  with  her  aunt  in  Rochester,  and  was  still  harmlessly, 
but  entirely  and  incurably  insane.  So,  with  that  one, 
fierce,  defiant  impulse  uppermost,  and  forgetting  for  the 
instant  the  other  sword  suspended  above  her,  in  the  fact 
that  Ordotte  would  prove  she  was  not  Edgar's  daughter, 
she  turned,  and  said  quickly  : 

"  You  have  no  proof  of  what  you  assert  of  me  in  re 
gard  to  this  Mackay,  and  I  deny  it  all ;  and  I  shall  con 
tinue  to  deny  it." 

She  had  forced  to  her  aid  a  courage  the  reaction  of 
which  she  knew  would  be  sickening,  but  its  present  help 
was  worth  that,  for  it  enabled  her  to  stand  very  firmly, 
and  very  erect,  and  to  speak  with  something  of  her  own 
old  voice. 

But  Ordotte  answered,  almost  as  if  he  had  expected 
such  a  speech,  and  was  quite  prepared  for  it : 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  I  have  only  one  course  to 
pursue;  to-night,  I  shall  see  your  husband — I  am  well 
aware  of  his  nightly  resort — and  acquaint  him  with  all 
that  I  have  told  you  ;  in  the  present  state  of  his  reduced 
fortune,  it  will  concern  him  a  little  to  learn  that  you  are 
not  the  heiress  he  supposes  you  to  be.  Immediately  after 
that,  I  shall  write  to  a  friend  in  England  who  will  make 
it  his  business  to  acquaint  your  husband's  uncle,  the 
wealthy  old  bachelor,  Mr.  Henry  Brekbsllew,  with  the 
fact  that  the  wife  of  his  nephew  is  but  the  portionless 
niece  of  Mr.  Edgar.  And  my  third  proceeding  shall  be, 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE,  315 

to  cause  it  all  to  become  common  gossip  in  every  club- 
room  in  Paris  and  London  ;  not  alone  the  fact  of  yonr  be 
ing  no  heiress,  but  the  fact  also  of  your  secret  marriage  to 
Mackay,  and  your  umnotherly  treatment  of  your  own 
child.  I  have  ways  and  means  to  circulate  such  news 
rapidly,  and  scandal-loving  people  will  believe  all,  despite 
a  thousand  denials  from  you.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Brek- 
bellew." 

He  turned  away,  and  had  reached  the  door.  She  glared 
after  him  like  a  madwoman,  but  she  seemed  to  have  no 
powTer  to  speak.  His  hand  was  upon  the  knob  of  the 
door.  With  a  gasp  she  rushed  to  him. 

"  Stay,"  she  cried,  "  give  me  a  moment  to  think." 

He  turned  back,  but  still  kept  near  the  door. 

She  sank  to  her  knees. 

"  O  Mr.  Ordotte  !  have  some  pity  upon  me.  To  do 
what  you  say  will  deprive  me  of  everything.  My  hus 
band  is  his  uncle's  heir,  and  if  his  uncle  should  hear  these 
things  about  me  he  may  insist  upon  a  separation  between 
us.  If  my  husband  should  hear  them  he  may  become  in 
dignant  enough  to  sue  for  a  divorce.  Then,  what  means 
of  support  should  I  have  ?  O  Mr.  Ordotte !  listen  to 
me.  Let  your  heart  be  touched  !  " 

Tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  and  were  he  not 
fortified  by  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Carnew,  away  from  her 
husband,  and  suffering  for  the  wrong-doing  of  this  very 
suppliant,  he  might  have  been  touched,  and  have  actually 
yielded  to  the  frantic  plea,  but  as  it  was,  he  answered 
only: 

"  By  agreeing  to  the  plan  I  propose,  Mrs.  Brekbellew, 
you  may  preserve  your  husband's  affections  and  those  of 
his  uncle.  I  can  do  nothing  else  for  you." 

"  Nothing  else,"  she  moaned,  and  then,  seeing  how  cold 
and  determined  was  the  tawny  face  above  her,  she  rose, 
gasping : 

"  Come  to-morrow,  then ;  I  shall  have  the  statement  for 
you." 


316  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Brekbellew ;  to-morrow  will  not  do. 
I  must  have  it  to-night." 

"  To-night !  "  she  repeated,  and  again  feeling  that  there 
was  no  appeal  from  that  hard,  determined  man,  she  said, 
through  her  tears : 

"  Come  into  the  library." 

He  followed  her,  and  as  they  went,  stray  sounds  of  the 
music  and  mirth  below  floated  up  to  them,  causing  the 
wretched  woman  to  shiver  and  groan  inwardly.  Would 
she  ever  take  part  in  the  same  again  ? 

Ordotte  dictated  the  statement,  and  she  attempted  to 
write,  but  her  hand  trembled  so  she  could  not  form  a 
legible  letter.  She  took  a  second  sheet  of  paper,  but  the 
result  was  the  same  ;  then  a  third,  and  so  she  continued, 
until  the  first  page  of  five  successive  sheets  was  blurred 
and  spoiled. 

"  I  cannot  write  it  to-night,"  she  said  ;  "  you  see  I  can 
not.  Come  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  answered  coolly,  throwing  himself  back 
in  his  chair.  "  I  can  wait  until  you  become  calmer,  wait 
until  morning  if  necessary." 

Finding  that  there  was  no  escape,  she  forced  herself  to 
the  task  at  last ;  wrote  from  his  dictation  a  clear,  confirma 
tory  statement  of  all  of  which  he  had  accused  her,  at  the 
end  signing  her  name  and  dating  it. 

She  was  rising  from  her  chair  then. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Mrs.  Brekbellew,"  he  said  quietly ; 
"  you  have  not  done  all  yet.  I  require  a  letter  from  you 
to  Mr.  Edgar,  stating  what  you  have  done  to-night,  and 
explaining  how  you  were  able  to  escape  from  his  espion 
age  long  enough  to  contract  this  secret  marriage,  and  long 
enough  afterward  to  give  secret  birth  to  a  child.  This 
statement,"  taking  the  latter  from  the  table,  "would 
scarcely  be  sufficient  without  something  of  the  kind  to 
convince  Mr.  Edgar,  and  if  necessary,  to  convince  Alan 
Carnew." 

"  Such  a  letter  is  outside  of  your  proposition,  sir,"  she 
said,  aghast  at  this  new  requirement. 


A     FATAL    BKSKMBLANCE  317 

"  I  require  it  now,"  he  answered  quietly. 

If  only  slie  could  have  strangled  him  as  he  sat  there  ; 
and  for  an  instant  she  glanced  down  at  her  small  white 
hands  and  then  at  him,  as  if  she  might  be  measuring  her 
strength  for  an  attack. 

He  arranged  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair,  as 
if  he  expected  to  have  to  wait  some  time  for  her  com 
pliance  with  this  additional  demand,  but  his  face  preserved 
its  cold,  hard,  determined  expression. 

She  resumed  her  seat,  and  tried  to  think  that  a  letter 
such  as  he  required  would  make  her  fate  no  harder  than 
would  the  written  statement  she  had  already  given.  And 
what  difference  could  it  make,  since  she  was  after  all  not 
Mr.  Edgar's  daughter  !  She  felt,  somehow,  that  having 
angered  him  so  much  by  marrying  Brekbellew,  he  would 
have  littls  difficulty,  perhaps  even  he  would  be  rather 
glad  of  the  excuse  to  cast  her  altogether  out  of  his  pater 
nal  affections.  Then,  she  thought,  wThat  if  Ordotte's  story 
were  not  true :  but  there  was  so  much  within  even  her 
own  experience  to  convince  her  of  its  truth ;  the  strange 
resemblance  between  herself  and  Ned,  the  similarity  of 
their  names,  and  Mr.  Edgar's  interest  until  recent  years 
in  Ned,  all  these  circumstances  were  certainly  strongly 
corroborative  of  his  tale.  But,  what  if  the  essence  shoulid 
fail  to  produce  any  more  mark  upon  Ned's  wrist  than 
it  had  done  upon  her  own  ?  Even,  not  doubting  that  the 
letters  had  been  ingrafted,  might  not — despite  what  Or- 
dotte  had  said  of  length  of  time  making  no  difference — the 
twenty-three  years  that  had  elapsed  since  the  time  of  the 
marking,  have  obliterated  them  beyond  even  the  power 
of  the  mysterious  essence  to  recall  3  And,  in  that  case, 
Mr.  Edgar  would  be  in  as  much  doubt  as  ever,  and  she 
could  still  claim  to  be  his  daughter.  But,  somehow,  she 
could  not  get  herself  to  adopt  that  doubt,  and  looking 
back  again  at  the  tawny  face  reclining  against  the  crimson 
cushion  of  the  chair,  she  seemed  to  read  in  every  line  of 
it  a  sort  of  undeniable  assurance  that  everything  he  said 
was  true — it  was-  almost  as  if  some  one  had  told  her  that 


318  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

lie  liad  already  tried  the  essence  in  secret  upon  E"ed,  and 
that  it  had  worked  as  he  expected  it  to  do. 

She  turned  back  to  the  table  and  resumed  her  pen. 
But  what  or  how  should  she  write  to  him  whom  she  was 
accustomed  to  address  as  "  my  dear  father  "  ?  She  could 
not  say  that  now,  neither  could  she  bring  herself  to  write 
Mr.  Edgar,  or  even  Sir ;  and  at  length,  in  desperation,  she 
determined  to  begin  without  addressing  him  at  all,  and  to 
write  it  in  a  brief,  business-like  way.  So,  she  drew  the 
paper  to  her,  and  wrote  with  nervous  haste  a  mere  repeti 
tion  of  what  she  had  written  at  Ordotte's  dictation.  When 
she  announced  that  she  had  finished,  he  rose  and  stood 
beside  her  while  he  read  it. 

"  This  will  not  do,  Mrs.  Brekbellew,"  he  said  with  stern 
determination,  as  he  returned  her  letter  to  the  table,  "it 
makes  nothing  clear ;  you  do  not  give  a  single  explana 
tion  of  how  in  any  instance  you  contrived  to  escape  from 
Mr.  Edgar's  espionage  sufficiently  long  to  further  your 
plans.  I  shall  have  to  dictate  this  letter,  as  I  have  already 
dictated  your  statement." 

He  drew  his  chair  close  to  hers,  placed  another  sheet 
of  paper  before  her,  arid  said  as  he  resumed  his  seat : 

"  Please  state  there  how  you  first  became  acquainted 
with  young  Mackay,  how,  when,  and  where  you  were 
married  to  him,  and  by  what  means  you  deceived  him  into 
believing  that  you  were  Miss  Ned  Edgar,  and  not  Miss 
Edna  Edgar.  When  you  have  done  that  I  shall  dictate 
the  rest  to  you." 

Even  if  the  circumstances  about  her  were  not  the  des 
perate  ones  they  were,  she  could  hardly  have  resisted  the 
stern  determination  of  the  will  opposed  to  her  own ; 
something  in  the  keen,  glittering  eyes,  which  never 
turned  for  an  instant  from  her  face,  frightened  and  subdued 
her,  and  left  her  helpless  as  an  infant  in  the  toils  of  her 
own  making.  She  wrote  as  he  had  commanded  her  to  do, 
and  thus  it  was  with  the  rest  of  the  letter.  Ordotte  com 
pelled  her  to  disclose  evory  link  in  her  hidden  chain  of 
guilty  facts ;  it  seemed  at  times,  from  his  sharp  dictation 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  319 

as  to  what  ghe  should  write,  as  if  lie  must  have  known  of 
those  secret  events  from  some  marvellous  intuition,  and 
often  she  stopped  to  look  at  him  with  a  sort  of  ghastly 
surprise,  but  his  face,  with  its  keen,  glittering  eyes,  pre- 
i-.ented  no  other  aspect  than  that  of  an  indomitable  resolu 
tion. 

It  was  finished  at  length,  and  as  she  looked  at  the 
closely  written  pages,  and  thought  how  fully  exposed  hi 
them  was  every  circumstance  of  those  acts  which,  even 
were  she  Edgar's  child,  must  fill  his  heart  with  anger  and 
loathing  for^her,  she  bowed  her  head  involuntarily  on 
the  table  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Ordotte  merely  pushed  back  his  chair  a  little  and 
waited. 

While  she  sobbed  she  had  some  wild  desire  to  append 
a  few  words  of  penitence  ;  to  beg  her  father,  or  uncle, 
whichever  he  was,  not  to  cast  her  memory  entirely  out  of 
his  heart ;  but,  when  she  lifted  her  head  and  dried  her 
eyes,  she  thought  half  scornfully  that  such  an  appendix 
would  only  be  an  additional  humiliation,  and  productive 
of  no  benefit.  ~No  ;  her  letter  might  go  as  it  was,  and  she 
would  put  out  of  her  heart  every  remembrance  of  the 
past.  Not  even  a  throb  of  motherhood  for  her  abandoned 
offspring  came  to  her.  It  was  Mackay's  child,  and  the 
hatred  which  she  had  for  him  as  the  cause  of  her  present 
trouble  and  disgrace  extended  itself  to  the  neglected  little 
one.  Its  future  was  nothing  to  her,  so  long  as  it  was  kept 
out  of  her  way  ;  and  that,  Ordotte  had  promised  her  should 
be  done. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  write  anything  more  ? "  he  asked,  when 
her  emotion  had  quite  ceased,  and  he  had  assured  himself 
that  her  letter  was  completed,  so  far  as  regarded  the  facts 
which  lie  had  requested. 

"  No,"  she  answered  sullenly. 

"  Then  direct  it,  if  you  please." 

He  folded  it  for  her ;  and  when  she  had  written  Mr. 
Edgar's  name,  he  sealed  it  writh  the  wax  at  hand,  and  put 
it,  together  with  her  statement,  into  the  leather  case,  a 


320  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

compartment  of  wliicli  contained  the  vial  of  essence. 
Then  he  said  a  respectful  good  night,  to  which,  if  she 
heard  it,  she  was  quite  indifferent,  and  he  left  the  room, 
guiding  himself  to  the  porte-cochere,  where  he  met  some 
of  the  other  guests  also  taking  their  departure. 

LI. 

For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Brekbellew  sat  staring  at,  with 
out  seeing,  the  handsome  lamp  in  front  of  her,  and  with 
her  hands  lying  listlessly  in  her  lap.  Her  thoughts  were 
drifting  in  a  wild,  helpless  way  to  Rahandabed,  to  Wee- 
wald  Place,  where,  as  soon  as  her  letter  and  her  state 
ment  were  read,  she  felt  that  execration  would  be  heaped 
upon  he  — execration  from  every  one  ;  from  him  whom 
she  had  o  long  called  father  ;  from  Alan  Carnew,  whom 
no  excitement  into  which  she  plunged  could  make  her 
forget ;  and  from  Ned,  whom,  as  she  pictured  the  hap 
piness  fast  approaching  the  latter,  in  the  restoration  to 
her  husband,  and  the  finding  of  a  father,  she  fiercely 
hated.  Not  even  the  fact  that  Ned  had  so  faithfully 
and  nobly  kept  her  oath  had  power  to  touch  her,  and 
if  in  her  present  blight  she  in  some  way  could  utterly 
crush  Mrs.  Carnew,  she  would  not  deem  her  own  fortune 
so  hard.  But  it  was  maddening  to  think  of  Ned  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  all  of  her  lost  pleasures.  She  shud 
dered  at  the  contemplation  ;  and  then  she  thought  of  her 
poor,  weak  husband,  for  whom  she  felt  the  same  sort  of 
contempt  she  would  have  given  to  a  drivelling  idiot.  But 
all  that  must  be  changed  now;  she  could  not  afford  to 
scorn  him  any  longer ;  instead,  she  must  propitiate  him, 
and  propitiate  his  wealthy  uncle. 

She  dragged  herself  up  wearily,  and  looked  at  her  tiny 
watch.  It  was  an  hour  past  midnight ;  how  the  time  had 
flown  during  that  horrible  interview  and  since,  while  she 
had  been  yielding  to  her  own  equally  horrible  thoughts. 
But  her  husband  must  be  in  his  room  by  this  time,  though 
she  could  scarcely  be  said  to  know  anything  about  it,  never 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  321 

having  troubled  herself  before  about  the  hour  of  his 
return  from  his  nightly  play.  However,  he  was  in  his 
room,  having  been  put  to  bed  in  a  state  of  wild  intoxica 
tion  by  his  valet,  who  had  to  assist  in  carrying  him  from 
the  carriage  that  had  brought  him  home. 

When  his  wife  entered,  he  was  tossing  about  on  the 
pillows,  ejaculating  between  his  hiccoughs : 

"  Fifty  thousand,  by  Jove  !  Won't  the  old  coon  think 
I  went  it — hie.  Such  a  steady  hand,  too  ;  no  flinching. 
I  lose  with  as  much  sang  froid  as  other  fellows  win — hie— 
Mrs.  Brekbellew — whew  !  she'll  be  glad  to  know  I  took 
her  advice  so  soon.  Gone  to  the  devil  at  last,  as  she  told 
me  to  do — hie — let  her  father  support  her — hie — no  wo 
man  of  ordinary  brains — hie- 
But  Mrs.  Brekbellew  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  was 
in  no  condition  to  listen  to  her  communication  ;  and,  im 
patient  as  she  was  to  make  it,  she  felt  that  it  must  be 
deferred  until  the  morning.  But  his  random  words,  maud 
lin  as  they  were,  caused  an  added  weight  upon  her  heart. 
Had  he  really  lost  that  night  at  play  another  fifty  thou 
sand  ?  If  so,  from  what  his  uncle's  letter  had  stated,  his 
fortune  must  be  almost  entirely  gone,  and  in  that  case 
ruin  for  him  must  be  also  ruin  for  her. 

She  dismissed  her  maid,  who  had  been  sleepily  wait 
ing  for  her,  and  threw  herself  dressed  as  she  was  upon  the 
bed,  to  obtain  if  she  could  a  little  slumber  before  the  morn 
ing  came.  But  her  slumber  was  fitful  and  feverish,  and 
the  first  streak  of  dawn,  as  it  shone  garishly  through  the 
Avindow,  awoke  her  with  a  start,  and  utterly  unrefreshed. 
She  could  rest  no  longer,  and  waiting  only  to  bathe  her 
heavy  eyes,  she  hastened  to  her  husband's  room. 

He  was  sleeping  heavily,  and  as  she  stood  by  his  side, 
looking  down  upon  his  face  that,  with  its  utter  want  of 
intellect,  and  its  marks  of  constant  and  deep  dissipation, 
was  a  most  unsightly  object,  she  felt  as  if  her  very  soul 
rose  against  him  in  utter  disgust.  To  obtain  some  con 
trol  of  her  abhorrence,  she  turned  away  and  walked  to 
the  window ;  but  even  there  his  breathing  reached  her. 


322  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

She  turned  back  after  a  moment,  and  seating  herself 
in  a  chair  by  his  bedside,  called  him.  He  stirred  un 
easily,  but  he  did  not  open  his  eyes.  Forcing  herself  to 
the  task,  she  grasped  his  shoulder,  as  she  called  him  again. 

He  awoke,  and  in  his  bewilderment,  caused  both  by 
her  unusual  presence  and  his  own  disordered  brain,  he 
sat  up  and  looked  wildly  about  him. 

"  Try  to  recall  your  senses,  Harry,"  she  said  in  a  voice 
which  she  partly  succeeded  in  making  gentle ;  "  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

Was  that  really  his  wife  who  spoke  ?  His  wife  using  a 
tone  that  was  not  contemptuous,  and  actually  calling  him 
Harry,  instead  of  the  scornful  diminutive  of  Breky ! 
He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him  again  as  if  to 
assure  himself  that  he  was  not  dreaming.  And  as  he 
looked,  the  events  of  the  preceding  night  returned  to 
him.  His  uncle's  letter,  the  interview  with  his  wife,  his 
loss  at  the  gaming-table — a  loss  which  would  impoverish 
his  fortune  to  even  the  desperate  extent  for  which  Mrs. 
Brekbellew  had  wished.  And  then  he  wondered  if  she 
already  had  heard  of  it,  and  had  come  to  announce  her  im 
mediate  departure  from  him.  He  felt  convinced  that 
such  must  be  the  object  of  her  most  unusual  visit,  and 
that  perhaps  in  a  sort  of  pity  for  him  she  had  determined 
not  to  inflict  her  wonted  contempt. 

So,  in  resignation  to  that  which  could  not  now  be  averted, 
and  in  a  sort  of  thankfulness  that  it  was  to  be  in  some  mea 
sure  tempered,  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  again,  noting 
for  the  first  time  that  she  was  still  dressed  in  her  recep 
tion  toilet  of  the  evening  before,  and  that  her  face  was 
frightfully  pale  and  weary-looking. 

If  the  morning  light  was  not  by  this  time  streaming 
brightly  into  the  room,  he  might  have  thought  it  was  yet 
night,  and  have  wondered  how  he  came  to  be  in  bed  at  such 
an  hour.  But  every  moment  his  mind  was  becoming 
clearer  as  to  recent  events,  though  he  could  not  remember 
how  or  when  he  retired,  having,  immediately  after  his 


A    FATAL   KESKMBLANCE.  323 

loss  of  the  night  before,  gone  to  drown  it  in  a  deep 
potation. 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  quite  able  to  comprehend  what 
I  am  going  to  say?"  Mrs.  Brekbellew  resumed,  when 
she  thought  she  had  given  sufficient  time  for  him  to  collect 
his  disordered  wits,  and  being  careful  to  preserve  the 
same  tone  that  she  had  used  before. 

He  nodded,  being  almost  afraid  to  speak,  lest  some 
how  the  sound  of  his  voice  might  bring  upon  him  the  old 
and  dreaded  contempt. 

She  leaned  toward  him  a  little. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  your  uncle's  letter  and 
about  your  circumstances,  and  about  wliat  is  my  duty  in 
the  matter." 

"  Here  it  comes,"  he  thought  with  a  sinking  heart, 
"  she's  going  to  say  that  it's  her  duty  to  go  back  to  her 
father."  But  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  quite  unsuspicious  of  his 
thought,  continued : 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  these  matters  all  night, 
and  I  have  decided  " — he  looked  at  her  piteously — "  to 
agree  to  what  your  uncle  proposes.  You  may  write  to 
him,  as  soon  as  you  choose,  that  we  accept  his  proposition. 
"We  will  make  our  home  with  him." 

Poor  little  Brekbellew  hardly  dared  to  believe  that  he 
had  heard  right ;  and  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  think 
that  anything  had  happened  to  make  this  change  in  his 
wife.  If  he  could  be  quite  sure  that  his  hearing  had  not 
deceived  him,  that  he  was  not  dreaming,  that  his  wife 
really  had  spoken  those  wonderful  wrords,  he  could  be 
happy,  for  he  felt  that,  by  telling  everything  to  his  uncle, 
the  latter,  in  consideration  that  the  couple  would  make 
their  home  with  him,  would  not  at  least  disinherit  him  ; 
and,  by  quiet,  economical  living  for  the  future,  the 
remnant  of  his  fortune  might  be  saved.  Revolving  these 
things  in  his  mind,  he  sat  so  still  that  he  hardly  breathed. 

His  wife  said  again  : 

"  Did  you  hear,  Harry  ?  And  when  will  you  write  to 
your  uncle  ? " 


324  A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Her  questions  were  surely  proof  that  lie  had  heard 
aright  in  the  first  instance  ;  he  could  not  doubt  his  hearing 
any  longer,  but  he*  answered  very  softly,  as  if  he  were 
under  some  spell : 

"  I  shall  write  to-day." 

"  And  tell  him,"  she  said,  "that  I  shall  be  devoted  to 
you  both ;  that  I  shall  make  his  home  as  pleasant  as 
I  can." 

She  rose  to  go.  He  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  detain  her, 
though  for  what  purpose  he  would  have  been  unable  to 
explain,  feeling  still  as  if  he  were  under  some  magical 
spell.  She  looked  back  at  him,  compelled  herself  to  smile 
and  vanished. 

LTI. 

Ordotte  was  in  such  glee  over  what  he  had  extorted 
from  Mrs.  Brekbellew  that  his  gay  spirits  might  be  taken 
for  the  effervescence  of  a  true  Frenchman  ;  and  as  sleep, 
because  of  grief  and  mortification,  did  not  visit  Mrs.  Brek 
bellew  until  nearly  morning,  so  the  same  quiet  restorer, 
owing  to  satisfaction  and  delight,  kept  away  from  Or- 
dotte's  couch  ;  and  as  the  unhappy  woman  he  had  left  had 
her  mind  filled  with  harrowing  thoughts,  so  was  his 
imagination  fed,  but  with  most  pleasant  pictures.  He 
perplexed  himself  trying  to  decide  which  he  should  do 
first — go  to  Mr.  Edgar,  or  to  Alan  Carnew  ;  but  at  length 
lie  decided  upon  the  latter  course,  as  it  was  more  important 
that  Mrs.  Carnew  should  be  restored  to  her  husband  with 
out  delay  than  be  made  acquainted  with  the  father,  whom 
she  had  never  known  as  such.  And  then  he  became  im 
patient  for  the  arrival  of  the  morning,  when  lie  should 
take  passage  on  the  first  vessel  going  to  New  York. 

Mrs.  Carnew  was  still  an  inmate  of  the  little  mountain 
home,  devoted  to  Meg  and  trying  to  interest  herself  in 
the  lighter  household  duties.  But  the  constant  struggle 
to  bear  her  trial  was  telling  upon  her ;  and  as  day  after  day 
and  week  after  week  wore  on  without  bringing  that  for 


A     FATAL    KESKMBLANCE.  325 

waich  licr  very  soul  was  crying — one  word  from  her  hus 
band,  her  health  began  visibly  to  fail.  Even  Anne 
McCabe,  the  hired  woman,  noticed  that ;  and  though  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  sad  part  of  Ned's  history,  she  often 
thought  within  herself  that  there  was  some  secret  trouble 
weighing  upon  the  young  lady,  and  her  warm,  honest 
heart  often  grieved  about  it. 

She  wished  that  Mr.  Button  would  come  home  to  see 
it ;  he  might  be  able  to  help  it  in  some  way.  But  Mr. 
Button  considered  it  his  sacred  duty  to  remain  away,  for 
the  reason  already  stated ;  and  as  Ned,  in  her  replies  to 
his  frequent  letters,  never  said  anything  about  her  health, 
he  could  not  be  expected  to  know  that  she  was  rapidly 
losing  health  and  strength. 

She  never  said  anything  about  her  husband,  after  the 
letter  in  which  she  had  asked  Dyke  to  get  information  to 
his  health,  and  to  which  she  had  received  in  reply  that 
Dyke  had  obtained  undoubted  assurance  of  his  perfect 
health. 

Perhaps  that  which  seemed  like  the  surest  knell  of  all 
her  hopes  was  the  cruel  neglect  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew  to 
answer  her  appealing  letter.  Sometimes  Ned  was  in?l  inerl 
to  hope  that  it  had  miscarried,  but  that  was  only  a  brief, 
vain  hope,  for  she  felt  in  her  inmost  heart  that  Mrs. 
Brekbellew  had  received  her  letter,  but  would  not  answer 
it. 

In  Rahandabod  there  was  little  difference  in  the  gay 
life  that  still  reigned  there,  save  that  Mrs.  Doloran  was, 
if  possible,  more  eccentric  and  more  fractious  than  ever. 
She  received  letters  regularly  from  Ordotte,  which  she 
read  to  the  whole  house — her  nephew  excepted — inter 
jecting  comments  of  her  own  that  made  it  hard  to  know 
whether  the  writer  was  not  absolutely  deficient  in  com 
mon  sense.  '  Alan  shut  himself  away  from  her  more  de 
terminedly  than  ever,  feeling  that  she  was  now  entirely 
beyond  his  influence,  and  in  his  anger  that  she  should 
judge  Ned  to  be  so  guilty — though  with  strange  inconsis 
tency  by  his  own  course  toward  Ned,  he  seemed  not  to 


326  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

tli ink  her  less  so — he  hardly  cared  what  victim  she  might 
bosoms  through  her  own  absurd  folly. 

If  JSTed  would  but  send  one  word  to  him ;  but,  as  the 
days  and  weeks  wore  on,  and  not  a  syllable  came,  he  tried 
to  resent  her  neglect,  by  compelling  himself  to  forget  her. 
He  shut  away  everything  that  could  remind  him  of  her ; 
and  he  even  wrote  to  his  mountain  friends,  Me  Arthur 
and  Brekbellew,  to  excuse  him  from  paying  his  promised 
autumn  visit ;  and  he  tried  to  think  the  reason  alleged  in 
his  note — reading  in  which  he  was  engaged,  preparatory 
to  a  trip  abroad — was  really  true ;  but  under  that  he  knew 
was  another  and  more  powerful  motive :  he  would  not 
trust  himself  again  in  such  proximity  to  Ned ;  did  he  do 
so,  he  must  break  through  every  barrier  imposed  by  his 
own  pride,  and  go  to  her.  lie  reminded  his  friends,  how 
ever,  of  their  promise,  and  won  from  them  a  renewal  of 
their  pledge  to  visit  Rahandabed  before  the  winter  passed. 
Carnew  was  resolved  to  go  abroad  early  in  the  spring. 

The  winter  holidays  were  approaching,  and  even  in 
their  snowy  dress  the  grounds  of  Rahandabed  had  an  in 
teresting,  and  to  one  sufficiently  well  wrapped  to  defy  the 
cold,  inviting  look.  Within  the  house,  every  apartment, 
heated  as  it  was  with  ample,  blazing,  and  most  cheerful- 
looking  fires,  and  furnished  with  the  most  comfortable 
and  luxurious  furniture,  had  the  air  of  pleasant  ease 
especially  adapted  to  Mrs.  Doloran's  idle,  pleasure-loving 
guests. 

On  this  morning,  three  days  before  Christmas,  Mrs. 
Doloran  was  in  high  spirits ;  in  such  spirits  that  her  ex 
hilaration  seemed  to  have  communicated  itself  to  the  very 
help,  and  to  have  bred  among  them  a  state  of  glee  that 
anywhere  else  might  have  been  considered  quite  demo 
ralizing. 

Even  Bunmer,  as  she  was  called  by  the  domestics,  who, 
in  imitation  of  Mrs.  Doloran,  dropped  the  appellative  of 
"Mrs.,"  shared  in  the  general  jojful  bustle,  though  she 
was  not  quite  sure  what  it  was  all  about,  and  she  ventured 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  327 

at  the  breakfast  table  to  ask  again  for  information  on  the 
subject. 

"  Didn't  we  tell  you  once,"  replied  one  of  the  waitresses, 
who  had  good-naturedly  taken  upon  herself  the  serving 
of  the  coffee,  "that  Mrs.  Doloran  had  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Ordotte,  saying  he  was  coming  home,  and  such  news  as  that 
will  just  make  her  like  an  angel  for  a  week  ?  The  house 
will  be  topsy-turvy  until  he  comes,  preparing  for  him." 

"  And  what  is  he  to  her,  that  she  should  be  so  glad  to  see 
him  ?  "  ventured  Bunmer  again. 

"  He's  her  right-hand  man  in  everything ;  and  a  good 
sort  of  fellow,  too.  Isn't  he,  Dan  \ "  and  the  waitress 
turned  to  the  butler  seated  at  her  right  hand.  "  Didn't 
you  hear  him  sticking  up  for  that  Mrs.  Carnew,  when 
Mrs.  Doloran  and  the  rest  of  them  were  down  on  her  ? " 

"  That  I  did,"  replied  Dan,  but  his  mouth  was  too  full 
and  his  breakfast  too  tempting  for  him  to  say  more. 

Macgilivray,  however,  who  was  seated  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  table,  and  who  never  could  resist  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  in  favor  of  Mrs.  Carnew,  especially  when 
there  was  present  the  woman  Bunmer,  whom  he  disliked 
and  distrusted,  said  in  his  dry  way : 

"  And  you  wad  1100  be  an  honest  mon  if  you  did  nae 
rejoice  in  your  heart  at  the  same ;  for  if  ever  there  was 
a  puir  wronged  chiel,  Mrs.  Carnew  is  ane." 

His  fellow-help  were  so  well  accustomed  by  this  time 
to  his  frequent  assumption  of  the  cudgels  in  Mrs.  Carnew's 
behalf  that  they  manifested  little  surprise,  but  Bunmer, 
at  whom  the  Scotchman  invariably  looked  whenever  he 
spoke  of  the  lady  in  question,  could  not  be  quite  so  easy. 
As  a  u  guilty  conscience  makes  a  coward,"  so  her  own 
secret  consciousness  made  her  somewhat  fear  the  Scotch 
man's  steady  glance,  and  on  this  particular  morning  im 
pelled  her  to  the  suspicious  course  of  defending  herself 
before  even  she  was  charged  with  anything. 

She  said,  bridling  up  : 

"I  don't  know  why,  Mr,  Macgilivray,  you  should  look 


328  A   FATAL   KESEMBLANCE. 

at  me  every  time  you  speak  of  Mrs.  Carnew.     I  haven't 
done  any  wrong  to  her." 

"When  the  cap  fits  a  body,  it's  right  eneuch  for  that 
body  to  wear  it,"  answered  the  Scotchman,  growing 
more  determined  and  bolder  in  his  defence  as  he  saw  the 
woman  irritated  by  it.  "  And  it  wad  noo  be  onleekly  if 
you  had  wronged  the  puir  chiel ;  such  things  ha'  happened 
before,  for  there's  a  power  in  siller  to  makit  niony  an 
evil." 

His  random  words  made  a  hit  of  which  he  little  dreamed, 
and  the  woman,  coloring,  rose  from  her  chair,  saying  she 
would  not  remain  to  be  longer  insulted.  Every  one  looked 
up  surprised,  but  no  one  opposed  her  retreat  to  her  own 
room,  and  Macgilivray  merely  remarked,  as  he  resumed 
his  breakfast : 

"  It's  noo  insult  to  speak  as  a  body  thinks." 

Three  hours  after,  it  was  discovered  that  Bunmer  had 
gone.  Her  disappearance  was  found  out  by  the  pro 
longed  crying  of  the  child,  whom  she  had  left,  and  who 
had  awakened  from  the  slumber  in  which  it  was  at  her  de 
parture.  When  a  thorough  search  had  been  made  for 
her,  her  disappearance  was  announced  to  Mrs.  Doloran, 
but  that  lady  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  preparations 
for  the  arrival  of  Ordotte  to  give  herself  much  concern 
about  the  flight  of  Bunmer.  And  when  asked  what 
should  be  done  with  the  baby,  she  answered  impatiently  : 

"  Don't  bother  me  about  such  a  trifle  now.  Do  any 
thing  you  chose  with  it." 

A  license  which  did  not  help  the  servants  out  of  their 
dilemma,  for  no  one  of  the  female  domestics  could  be 
spared  from  her  duties  to  give  the  attention,  or  care 
which  was  needed  by  the  poor,  little,  abandoned  child. 

It  was  Macgilivray  who  assisted  them  out  of  their 
difficulty. 

"I'll  "take  it  to  C ,"  he  said,  "  and  find  some  o'  me 

ain  folk  to  tak  care  o'  it.     Puir  little  bairn,  we  can't  leave 
it  to  dee !  " 

And  that  same  afternoon  he  took  it,  carefully  wrapped 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  329 

up,  and  lying  close  to  his  honest  heart,  to  the  village, 
where  he  found  at  least  a  temporary  home  for  it.  As  he 
returned  to  Rahandabed,  he  muttered  to  himself : 

"Bunmer  knowed  vera  weel  what  she  went  for,  an 
syne  may  be  the  auld  Hornie  '11  find  things  not  all  his 
ain  way ;  the  puir  wronged  chiel  that  had  to  gang  f  rao 
her  ain  hame  may  be  back  again.  You  can  nae  mair 
keep  innocence  doon  than  you  can  break  an  egg  in  an  empty 
poet." 

LIIL 

Alan  was  aware  of  the  preparation  going  on  about  him  ; 
he  could  scarcely  have  been  otherwise  from  the  noise  and 
bustle  almost  at  his  very  door,  but,  absorbed  as  he  en 
deavored  to  be  in  his  books,  it  concerned  him  very  little. 
In  the  midst  of  it  all,  however,  a  letter  came  to  him, 
which  changed  the  whole  tenor  of  his  thoughts.  Indeed, 
he  read  it  twice  to  be  sure  that  he  had  not  mistaken  its 
contents.  It  was  from  Ordotte,  and  ran  : 

"  I  have  arrived  in  New  York  from  Europe,  and  I 
shall  delay  my  return  to  Rahandabed  in  order  t<>  meet 
you  here.  I  have  news  to  communicate,  which  you  will 
enjoy  better  hearing  it  out  of  proximity  to  your  aunt. 
Indeed,  I  cannot  see  her  until  1  have  seen  you.  Come 
to  me  immediately.  I  am  sojourning  in  the  Astor  House, 
and  I  can  scarcely  contain  my  impatience  to  meet  you. 

"  MASCAR  ORDOTTE." 

For  the  moment  Carnew  was  inclined  to  regard  this 
letter  as  a  part  of  Ordotte's  other  eccentricities  ;  that,  if 
he  obeyed  the  summons  it  contained,  he  should  find  him 
self  in  New  York  on  a  very  objectless  errand  ;  but,  again, 
its  tone  seemed  so  earnest  that  he  could  not  disregard  it, 
and  at  length,  after  he  had  read  it  five  times,  he  decided 
to  go.  So,  that  evening,  he  found  himself  in  New  York, 
and  waiting  in  Ordotte's  apartment  in  the  Astor  House 
for  that  gentleman  to  appear. 

He  came  in  almost  immediately,  his  anxiety  to  meet 


330  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Cariiow  the  moment  lie  should  arrive,  not  permitting  him 
to  be  absent  long. 

Without  speaking,  he  rushed  forward  and  grasped 
Alan's  hand,  shaking  it  with  such  joyful  cordiality,  that, 
in  spite  of  Came w's  dislike  for  the  man,  he  felt  compelled 
to  return  it  at  least  in  part. 

Then  Ordotte  drew  a  chair  forward  so  that  he  might 
seat  himself  very  close  to  Carnew,  and  opening  the  breast 
of  his  coat,  he  took  out  the  leather  case  that  contained  the 
articles  which  were  to  prove  so  much. 

Carnew  was  deeply  mystified ;  all  the  more  that  not 
a  single  word  had  been  spoken  so  far,  and  that  still  with 
out  a  syllable,  Ordotte  opened  and  placed  before  him  a 
closely-written,  paper. 

Carnew  read  it ;  it  was  the  statement  Mrs.  Brekbellew 
had  written,  and  when  he  had  finished,  he  raised  his  eyes 
like  one  in  a  strange,  troubled  dream. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  Ordotte  spoke. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? "  he  said,  manifesting  such 
a  youthfully  eager  delight,  that  it  gave  to  his  wonted 
sober  appearance  something  of  a  grotesque  look.  "  But, 
before  you  say  a  word,"  he  continued,  "  let  me  give  my 
story."  And  in  a  rapid,  but  clear  and  distinct  manner  he 
told  everything.  How  his  interest  was  first  awakened  in 
Mrs.  Carnew,  by  hearing  her  name  from  her  own  lips 
when  she  came  to  Rahandabed ;  his  judgment  of  her 
character  derived  from  Ids  own  close  observation,  his  un 
favorable  opinion  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew  when  she  visited 
Rahandabed,  and  Iris  confidence  in  Mrs.  Carnew's  inno 
cence,  even  when  circumstances  seemed  most  desperately 
against  her.  Then  he  explained  the  true  object  of  his 
journey  abroad,  and  all  that  had  resulted  from  it,  even  to 
a  minute  account  of  his  interview  with  Mrs.  Brekbellew, 
and  he  added  that  should  further  proof  of  the  truth  of 
what  he  had  stated  be  required,  he  could  furnish  it  in  the 
letter  that  he  held  for  Mr.  Edgar  from  Mrs.  Brekbellew, 
having  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Edgar  would  consent  to  show 
the  letter  as  soon  as  had  he  read  it  himself. 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  331 

Carnew  did  not  interrupt  by  a  word  ;  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  lie  could  not  speak  if  he  would,  and  when  Ordotte 
had  ceased,  he  still  continued  to  look  like  one  in  an  awful 
night-mare.  Nor  would  his  companion  say  any  more. 
Intuitively  he  divined  the  feelings  that  must  be  at  work 
in  Alan's  breast,  and  he  sympathized  with  them  too  keenly 
to  break  upon  them  by  any  comment  of  his  own. 

The  fact  that  Ned  would  shortly  be  proved  to  be  Ed 
gar's  daughter,  instead  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  was  nothing 
to  him  beside  the  fact  which  he  had  read  in  the  state 
ment  of  her  innocence,  and  which  Ordotte  had  confirmed. 
Fool  that  lie  was  to  have  been  so  blind,  so  deficient  in 
suspicions  of  anybody  else  than  his  wife.  Why  could  he 
not  have  remembered  the  resemblance  between  Ned  and 
Edna,  and  have  given  the  former  the  benefit  of  at  least  a 
doubt ;  and  as  before,  every  trifling  circumstance  rose  up 
to  confirm  his  conviction  of  her  deceit,  so  now,  with  equal 
impulsiveness  and  haste,  many  trifling  circumstancas  arose 
to  confirm  the  story  of  hor  innocence.  He  forgot  what 
had  been  an  overwhelming  proof  of  her  guilt  in  the  fact 
of  the  minister's  recognition  ;  and  his  love  for  her,  roused 
with  new  violence  as  he  thought  of  her  bitter  wrongs. 
Unable  to  endure  his  thoughts  he  staggered  to  his  feet, 
and  as  if  he  forgot  the  presence  of  Ordotte,  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands  and  groaned.  Then^  uncovering  his 
face  he  began  to  pace  the  room.  His  companion  did  not 
disturb  him,  feeling  that  it  was  better  to  let  the  young 
man's  feelings  have  their  vent, 

"  What  should  he  do  ?  "  How  could  he  ever  repair  what 
he  had  done  ?  What  atonement  could  he  make  to  poor, 
calumniated,  outraged  Ned  ?  How  could  he  convince  her 
thaf  he  had  never  once  ceased  to  love  her  ?  If  he  had  only 
gona  to  her  when  he  was  near  her  ;  if  he  had  only  entered 
her  little  home  the  night  on  which  his  presence  was  so 
nearly  detected !  And  then  he  cursed  himself  for  the 
pride  which  had  kept  him  from  her.  And  what  if  now 
he  should  be  punished  by  finding  her  ill,  dead  perhaps, 
unable  to  listen  to  his  penitence,  to  say  at  least  that  she 


332  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

forgave  him  !  He  was  maddened  at  the  thought,  and  he 
stopped  a  moment  in  his  walk,  seized  by  a  wild  desire  to 
flee  to  her  immediately.  But,  somehow,  in  the  same 
instant  there  came  to  him  the  thought  of  Dyke  ;  his  last 
interview  with  Dyke,  when  the  young  man  had  pleaded 
for  her  who  was  so  wronged ;  when  he  had  shown  in  hie 
declaration  not  to  return  to  his  home  while  it  held  Mrs. 
Carnew,  his  noble  regard  for  the  honor  of  the  wife  whom 
her  husband  neglected,  and  in  that  moment  Carnew  hated 
himself  almost  as  much  for  his  treatment  of  Dyke,  as  for 
his  neglect  of  Ned.  And  then  the  thought  came  to  him 
to  seek  Dyke  first.  He  would  probably  find  him  at  his 
place  of  business  in  the  morning,  and  he,  perhaps,  being 
the  noble  fellow  he  was,  would  find  an  easy  way  of 
reconciliation  to  Ned. 

That  decided,  he  seemed  to  remember  the  presence  of 
Ordotte,  and  going  up  to  that  gentleman,  who  had  re 
mained  very  quietly  seated,  lie  grasped  both  of  his  hands 
and  said  in  a  voice  husky  from  emotion  : 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  you,  my  friend,  for  what  you  have 
done  ?  How  shall  I  thank  you  ?  And  what  amends  can 
I  make  for  my  coldness  in  the  past  ? 

Ordotte  jumped  up  nimbly,  and  partially  turned  his 
head,  perhaps  to  conceal  a  sudden  moisture  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  answered : 

"  You  do  not  need  to  say  anything  ;  and  as  for  thanks, 
I  am  so  happy  in  being  the  means  of  re-uniting  Mrs.  Car- 
new  and  yourself,  that  I  am  amply  rewarded.  Regarding 
amends,  why,  in  the  future,  when  you  see  me  endeavoring 
to  entertain  that  amusing  aunt  of  yours,  do  not  judge  me 
too  harshly.  That  is  all." 

The  protracted  and  hearty  grasp  of  his  hands  by  Car- 
new  assured  him  that  much  more  than  he  asked  was 
granted. 

LIY. 

Dyke  seemed  to  himself  to  have  become  an  old  man, 
though  he  had  hardly  reached  his  prime.  Suffering  often 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  333 

ages  much  more  quickly  than  years,  and  life  had  given 
him  such  bitter  disappointments.  But  his  sorrows  had 
not  soured  him ;  he  still  retained  his  simple,  healthy  trust, 
accepting  good  wherever  he  found  it,  and  nover  suffering 
the  dross  of  human  nature  to  blind  him  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  often  beneath  it  the  gold  of  some  noble 
quality. 

Knowing  so  well  what  it  was  to  suffer,  his  heart  went 
out  in  boundless  sympathy  to  all  forms  of  the  same,  and 
the  gentle,  kindly  gravity  of  his  manner  won  general  re 
spect  and  liking.  He  had  schooled  himself  to  a  resigna 
tion  that  did  not  complain,  even  in  secret,  and  he  had 
from  his  earliest  years  that  Christian  philosophy  that  sees 
in  everything  the  wisdom  of  a  higher  power.  Thus  the 
happiness  which  was  so  wanting  now  would  be  complete 
in  another  sphere,  and  he  could,  like  many  more  brave 
spirits,  labor  and  wait. 

Was  Ned's  innocence  proven,  and  was  she  restored  to 
her  husband,  there  would  not  be  quite  such  a  weight 
upon  his  heart,  nor  would  he  add  to  the  precious  packet 
of  her  letters  each  one  as  it  came  from  her  now,  with  such 
a  trembling  hand,  and  such  a  great,  quivering  sigh.  Occa 
sionally,  he  permitted  himself  to  read  them  all  over,  from 
the  first  little  cramped  epistle  of  her  school-days  to  the 
very  last,  that  so  carefully  concealed  all  she  was  suffering. 
He  fancied  that  the  reading  of  them  made  him  braver  for 
his  own  duties,  and  more  resigned  to  everything  that  had 
befallen  him.  She  seemed  so  noble,  from  the  nrst  simple 
expression  of  her  warm  affection  for  himself  and  Meg 
down  to  her  brave,  uncomplaining  acceptance  of  the  bit 
ter  cup  prepared  for  her,  and  he  always  kissed  the  letters 
and  put  them  away,  breathing  a  heartfelt  prayer  that  her 
innocence  would  soon  be  cleared. 

The  same  evening  that  Ordotte  told  his  story  to  Car- 
new  had  been  one  of  the  times  when  Dyke  permitted  him 
self  to  read  Ned's  letters,  so  that  the  next  morning  he 
went  to  his  business  more  absorbed  in  her  than  usual,  and 


334  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

feeling  with  an  unwonted  irritation  his  impotence  to  helo 
her  in  the  matter  of  her  wrongs. 

How  was  he  astonished  to  be  summoned  a  little  after 
his  arrival  to  meet  a  gentleman,  and  to  find  that  gentle 
man  Alan  Carnew ! 

They  were  alone  in  the  private  office,  so  that  Carnew 
was  spared  the  necessity  of  putting  any  great  restraint 


upon  his  feelings. 


"  When  last  we  met,  Mr.  Dutton,"  he  said,  "  you  came 
in  a  measure  to  sue  to  me ;  now,  I  have  come  to  sue  to 
you ;  to  beg  your  interference  in  my  behalf  with  JSTed. 
I  have  discovered  that  she  is  innocent  of  everything  with 
which  she  has  been  charged,  and  that  I — I  have  been  a 
brute." 

He  stopped,  for  emotion  had  unmanned  him ;  and  to 
gether  with  the  sleepless  night  he  had  passed,  and  his 
absolute  refusal  to  touch  nourishment — protesting  to  Or- 
dotte's  entreaties  that  it  would  choke  him,  until  he  had 
seen  Dutton — had  made  him  a  little  dizzy. 

Dyke  strove  to  calm  his  own  feelings,  excited  by  this 
sudden  and  unexpected  statement,  and  he  drew  a  chair 
forward  for  his  visitor,  and  said  as  quietly  as  he  could  : 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Carnew ;  you  appear  so  feverish  and 
unwell  that  you  had  better  rest  a  little." 

lie  dropped  into  the  chair,  but,  having  recovered  his 
voice,  immediately  resumed : 

"  I  must  tell  you  at  once  all  that  I  have  heard."  And 
he  did  so,  pouring  forth  in  an  eager,  impassioned  way 
everything  that  Ordotte  had  told  him,  adding  when  he 
had  finished : 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  ever  forgive  my  blindness  and 
stupidity  ?  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  have  her  heart 
again  as  I  once  had  it  ?  You  know  her  so  well,  you  who 
have  known  her  from  her  childhood.  Forget  the  taunt 
I  once  flung  upon  your  honor  regarding  her,  and  speak, 
Dutton,  as  I  feel  you  alone  can  speak.  O  God !  that  I 
should  have  thrown  her  from  me  as  I  did !  " 

He  broke  down  utterly  then,  strong  man  though  he 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  335 

was,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  something  like 
a  great  sob  escaped  him  for  an  instant. 

Dyke  was  white  to  the  very  lips ;  white  even  while  he 
exulted  at  this  strange  fulfilment  of  all  his  wishes  for  Ned, 
for  the  sight  of  Carnew's  suffering,  arising  as  it  did  from 
his  love  for  her  who  had  dwelt  so  long  and  fondly  in  his 
own  heart,  aroused  again  in  some  measure  his  own  past 
anguish. 

But  he  bent  forward,  and  answered  in  his  grave,  kindly 
way  : 

"  You  have  always  had  her  love.  It  needs  but  one  syl 
lable  from  you  to  tell  her  that  your  heart  is  still  hers,  to 
bring  her  to  your  arms  again." 

"  Then  we  shall  go  to  her  this  minute,  Button." 

He  rose  wildly. 

Dyke  gently  forced  him  back  into  his  seat. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  little  advice  to 
give." 

"  Anything,  Button  ;  I  shall  do  anything  you  say,  as 
long  as  you  tell  me  that  I  may  win  my  wife  again." 

And  he  looked  up  with  the  submission  of  a  child. 

Dyke  smiled. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  wait  a  couple  of  days. 
In  the  mean  time,  with  your  permission,  I  shall  write  to 
her  of  these  wonderful  tidings,  and  tell  her  you  will  be 
with  her  almost  immediately.  That  will  be  better,  per 
haps,  as  it  will  prepare  her  for  your  visit,  and  for  her  new 
found  happiness." 

"  But  a  couple  of  days,  Dutton  !  How  can  I  wait  a  cou- 
pie  of  days?" 

Dyke's  white  lips  parted  again  into  a  smile.  The  color 
had  not  yet  returned  to  his  face,  but  no  suspicion  of  his 
suffering  entered  into  the  inind  of  the  impatient  man  be 
side  him. 

He  resumed  : 

"  Since  you.  think  it  the  better  course,  Dutton,  I  con- 
•sent  to  it.  But  you  will  come  with  rne.  We  will  go  to 
Ned  together." 


330  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

Dyke  shook  his  head. 

"  Your  meeting  will  be  better  with  as  few  witnesses  as 
possible.  And  Ned  will  understand  when  you  tell  her 
how  much  I  rejoice  in  her  happiness." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  the  speaker,  and  an  instant 
after,  something  in  the  expression  of  his  grave,  pallid 
face  caused  for  the  first  time  a  suspicion  of  Dyke's  real 
regard  for  Ned  to  enter  Carnew's  mind ;  but  with  it 
came  also,  as  it  had  never  quite  come  before,  the  realiza 
tion  of  Dyke's  true  nobility.  It  forced  him  to  compare 
him  with  himself,  and  the  comparison  shamed  him.  He 
rose,  a  little  unsteadily  still,  and,  grasping  Dyke's  hand, 
said  tremulously : 

"  Dutton,  you  are  a  noble  fellow.  May  God  forgive 
me  for  my  treatment  of  you  ;  but  if  the  future  can  make 
amends,  it  shall  do  so.  And  now—  ''  he  hesitated,  as 
if  with  sudden  diffidence. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Dyke,  reassuringly,  and  return 
ing  the  warm  pressure  of  Carnew's  hand. 

"When  you  write,  I  would  rather  that  you  refrain 
from  telling  Ned  what  we  have  learned  of  her  relation 
ship  to  Mr.  Edgar.  I  want  nothing  to  come  between  her 
thoughts  of  me." 

And  he  looked  with  a  sort  of  pitiful  wistfulness  into 
Dyke's  face. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  answered  the  latter,  the 
smile  still  about  his  lips.  That  proposition  accorded  with 
his  own  thoughts  just  then.  It  was  better  that  for  the 
present  Ned  should  have  nothing  to  think  of  but  her 
husband. 

They  parted,  Carnew  to  return  to  Ordotte,  who  decided 
to  go  to  'Wcewald  Place,  where  Carnew  would  also  repair 
afrer  he  had  rejoined  his  wife,  and  Dyke  to  write  to  Ned. 

He  wrote  immediately,  so  that  the  letter  would  be  cer 
tain  to  reach  her  in  time — a  long,  full,  clear  letter  that 
stated  nothing  obscurely,  and  omitted  nothing  save  what 
he  had  been  requested  to  omit.  At  the  end  he  said  sim 
ply  of  his  own  feelings  : 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 


337 


"  I  thank  God  in  my  heart  for  you,  dear  ISTed,  that  the 
day  of  your  happiness  has  dawned  at  last. 

"  Your  brother, 

"  DYKE." 

He  took  pains  to  place  in  addition  to  the  direction  "  in 
haste,"  knowing  that  would  facilitate  its  carriage  to  Ned 
should  there  be  no  one  in  Saugerties  from  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  mountain  home  at  the  time  of  the  arrival 
of  the  letter ;  the  mail  master,  to  whom  Dyke  was  well 
and  favorably  known,  seeing  those  words  upon  it,  would 
find  means  of  forwarding  it  immediately.  And  so  it 
happened.  The  letter  was  brought  up  by  one  of  the 
residents  of  Saugerties,  and  reached  Ned  shortly  after 
mid-day.  Catching  sight  of  the  words  "  in  haste,"  her 
heart  leaped  to  her  mouth.  Could  the  letter  be  a  sum 
mons  to  her  husband,  that  he  was  ill,  or  dying  ?  She  could 
scarcely  steady  her  trembling  hand  to  open  it ;  but  when 
she  did  so,  and  read  it,  and  realized  fully  its  glad  con 
tents,  a  scream  of  joy  burst  from  her,  and,  rushing  to 
Meg,  she  put  her  arms  around  her  and  cried  like  a  very 
child  from  joy. 

Meg  laughed,  and  petted  her  darling  without  compre 
hending  or  questioning  the  cause  of  her  tears,  and  Anne 
McCabe  ventured  to  ask  when  Mrs.  Carnew's  burst  of 
emotion  had  spent  itself  a  little  : 

"  Was  there  any  trouble  in  the  letter  ? " 

"  Trouble,  Anne  ?  Oh,  no !  but  such  joy.  How  shall  I 
contain  myself,  how  shall  I  wait  ?  My  husband  is  com 
ing  ;  he  will  be  here  this  very  day." 

Then  Anne  guessed  a  little  to  herself  of  what  might 
have  been  the  secret  trouble  which  seemed  to  press  so 
upon  young  Mrs.  Carnew^that  it  had  reference  to  the 
husband  who  was  coming  so  speedily — but  she  forbore  to 
ask  any  further  question,  feeling  that  perhaps  in  time 
she  would  be  made  acquainted  with  every  tiling,  and  she 
began  to  busy  herself  in  preparation  for  the  visitor.  Ned 
took  up  her  station  at  the  window — it  was  too  cold  to 


338  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

remain  at  the  door — but  as  the  window  commanded  a 
full  view  of  the  wide,  bare,  snow-covered  road,  her  view 
was  quite  as  good. 

There  was  no  one  to  pass  by  their  isolated  place,  Dut- 
ton's  being  the  highest  abode  on  the  mountain,  so  that 
when  it  was  almost  evening,  and  she  could  just  discern 
some  vehicle  coming  along  the  road,  she  felt  that  it  con 
tained  her  husband.  She  rushed  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  unmindful  of  tlia  piercing  cold,  darted  down  the 
path  leading  to  the  road. 

On  came  the  sleigh,  but  before  it  reached  its  destina 
tion,  Carnew  saw  the  slender,  graceful,  girlish  figure. 

"  You  need  come  no  further,"  he  said  to  the  man  who 
had  driven  him  from  Saugerties,  and  springing  out  be 
fore  even  the  vehicle  had  quite  stopped,  he  rushed  to  the 
figure  on  the  path. 

In  another  moment,  she  was  folded  in  his  arms  with 
her  face  pressed  to  his  own. 

LY. 

Edgar  had  become  so  much  of  a  recluse  that  he  was 
never  seen  beyond  his  own  grounds,  and  the  only  person 
to  whom  he  seemed  to  care  to  speak  was  Mackay,  the 

fardener.  Whenever  lie  took  his  walks  about  the  place, 
e  always  stopped  for  a  brief  conversation  with  the  old 
man.  It  might  be  that  the  rich,  cultured  gentleman  felt 
a  sort  of  secret  sympathy  with  this  poor,  old  father  whose 
offspring,  like  his  own,  had  given  a  cruel  stab  to  the 
paternal  heart.  But  ho  would  not  acknowledge  such  a 
reason  even  to  his  own  inmost  soul,  and  while  he  himself 
was  careful  not  to  reveal  any  of  the  facts  that  he  had 
heard  of  young  Mackay 's  secret  marriage,  it  never  oc 
curred  to  him  that  the  story  might  be  carried  to  the  old 
man's  ears  from  another  source,  and  so  it  finally  happened. 
The  gossip  of  the  help  of  Rahandabed  extended  itself 
to  the  help  of  other  country  seats,  and  a  few  days  before 
the  winter  holidays  it  actually  got  into  the  kitchen  of 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  339 

Weewald  Place.  Some  of  the  shocked  servants  were  for 
keeping  it  carefully  from  old  Mackay,  while  others 
deemed  it  their  bounden  duty  to  tell  him.  And  the  lat 
ter  had  their  way. 

That  same  night  the  old  man  was  told  why  his  son  had 
committed  suicide,  and  that  his  abandoned  child  was  in 
Mrs.  Doloran's  care. 

The  poor  old  creature  was  dazed,  and  even  the  gossip 
who  broke  the  story  to  him  felt  that  it  would  have  been 
a  truer  kindness  not  to  have  disturbed  his  ignorance. 

"  You  say  he  was  married,-'  he  said  at  last ;  "  married 
to  Miss  Ned  Edgar,  and  that  she's  married  again,  and 
that  his  child  is  living.  I  must  do  something  about  it. 
I  must  see  Mr.  Edgar." 

And  straightway  he  went  to  the  grand  house,  in  his 
bewilderment  ascending  to  the  great,  grand  entrance,  and 
asking  to  see  Mr.  Edgar. 

That  gentleman,  being  near  the  entrance  hall  at  the 
time,  heard  his  voice,  and,  much  surprised,  came  to  him 
immediately. 

"  Come  in  here,  Mackay,"  he  said,  seeing  that  the  gar 
dener  was  laboring  under  some  strong  agitation,  and  he 
opened  the  door  of  one  of  the  reception  chambers. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  trouble,"  he  said  as  kindly  as  the 
exceedingly  stern  gravity  which  his  manner  had  recently 
assumed  would  allow  him  to  speak  ;  "  what  is  it  ? " 

"  It's  about  me  boy,  Mr.  Edgar,  me  boy  that  killed  him 
self,"  his  lips  quivered,  and  for  an  instant  he  paused  to 
pass  his  sleeve  over  his  sunken  eyes.  "  I  was  told  to 
night  by  one  of  the  help  in  your  kitchen  that  he  married 
the  lady  who  used  to  live  here — Miss  Ned  Edgar  they 
called  her — and  that  his  child  is  in  one  of  the  village  ; 
down  the  river.  I  have  heered  that  Miss  Edgar  was  no 
flesh  of  yourn,  that  it  was  only  your  kindness  as  kept  her 
here,  and  I  didn't  come  to  say  anything  to  you  about 
that.  I've  only  come  to  ask  if  there  wouldn't  be  some 
way  of  my  getting  the  child.  I  was  told  that  the  mother 
left  it,  that  she's  married  again,  and  doesn't  want  to  own 


34:0  A   FATAL  RESEMBLANCE. 

it.  But  it's  my  flesh  and  blood,  it's  the  child  of  me  poor, 
misguided  boy,  and  I'm  an  old  man,  Mr.  Edgar,  and  I 
might  say  a  childless  old  man,  for  Annie,  the  doctors 
say,  will  never  be  better.  Will  you  tell  me  some  way  of 
getting  the  little  one  ? " 

His  eagerness,  and  the  emotion  he  tried  to  suppress 
were  pitiful ;  even  the  cold,  stern  man  who  had  imagined 
himself  rapidly  dying  to  every  sympathy  was  touched. 
He  was  obliged  to  turn  away  for  an  instant  before  he 
could  trust  himself  to  speak  with  his  ordinary  voice. 
Then  he  said  : 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  to  blame,  Mackay,  in  not  letting 
you  hear  from  my  lips  what  you  have  heard  to-night ; 
but  I  refrained  from  doing  so  in  kindness  to  yourself, 
and  " — he  lowered  his  voice  a  little  as  if  he  were  speak-  ' 
ing  only  for  his  own  ears — "perhaps,  to  spare  a  little  my 
own  feelings,  that  any  one  who  had  ever  been  of  my 
household  should  have  brought  such  sorrow  upon  you. 
But,"  raising  his  voice  again,  "  I  can  still  make  amends. 
Leave  the  matter  to  me  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  shall  de 
vise  some  means  of  getting  your  grandchild  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  may  God  bless  you,"  and  the  old 
man  turned  from  the  room,  remembering  as  he  re-entered 
the  hall  that  it  was  his  place  to  descend  to  the  lower  en 
trance,  but  Edgar  called  him  back,  and  dismissed  him 
through  the  grand  door  by  which  he  had  entered. 

Then  he  sent  for  the  butler. 

"  Summon  immediately  all  the  servants  to  their  dining 
hall.  I  wish  to  speak  to  them  there." 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  astonishment  and  conster 
nation.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  before ;  and 
while  Edgar,  because  of  his  grave,  stern  manner  and  ex 
treme  reticence,  was  excessively  feared  by  his  help,  his 
generous  treatment  of  them  prevented  their  fear  being 
accompanied  by  its  usual  attendant — dislike. 

He  had  adopted  the  English  custom  of  a  full  set  of 
servants,  even  though  such  a  number  seemed  to  be  quite 
unnecessary,  so  that  the  large  dining-hall  contained  quite 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  341 

an  assembly  of  men  and  women  when  he  entered  it  to 
speak  to  them.  And,  unconscious  as  they  were  of  his  ob 
ject  in  thus  gathering  them,  most  of  them  quailed  befbro 
the  keen,  stern  look  of  his  eyes,  as  he  turned  them  upoi. 
every  face  before  lie  spoke. 

"  I  desire  to  see  the  man  or  woman  among  you  wh 
recently  told  to  old  Mackay  the  cause  of  his  son's  sui 
cide."  " 

His  voice  was  so  loud  and  distinct  it  fairly  rang  through 
the  room,  causing  those  who  had  quailed  before  to  quail 
still  more ;  but  the  female  servant  who  wTas  the  culprit 
was  not  deficient  in  something  of  the  courage  that  dis 
tinguishes  the  virago,  added  to  which  she  thought  it  bet 
ter  to  face  the  matter  bravely  of  her  own  account  than  to 
be  discovered  by  some  informer  among  her  fellow-help. 
So  she  rose  from  her  place,  and  said  quite  loudly  and  dis 
tinctly  : 

"  I  am  the  person,  Mr.  Edgar,  who  told  Mr.  Mackay 
about  it." 

Edgar  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a  look  that  the 
rest  of  the  help  afterwards  averred  was  enough  to  riddle 
her  through,  and  lie  said  in  the  same  tones  he  had  used 
before  : 

"  You  will  present  yourself  this  evening  for  payment 
of  whatever  may  be  due  to  you,  and  you  will  leave  this 
house  before  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  Barnes," 
to  the  butler,  "  that  is  all." 

He  turned  and  strode  away,  leaving  the  help  too  dumb 
founded  to  speak  until  they  ceased  to  hear  the  last  sound 
of  his  steps. 

The  next  day  brought  Ordotte  to  Weewald  Place,  and 
Edgar,  when  he  received  his  card,  was  in  little  mood  to 
see  him.  He  remembered  him  with  dislike  as  the  man 
who  in  Kahandabed  had  spoken  with  such  irritating 
mysteriousness,  and  he  felt  somehow  as  if  this  interview 
would  be  an  unpleasant  repetition  of  the  same.  Still  he 
could  not  decide  on  a  refusal  to  accord  him  an  interview. 


342  A.   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

and  so  lie  descended  to  the  reception  chamber  where  Or- 
dotte  waited. 

Bowing  coldly  and  haughtily,  he  desired  his  visitor  to 
be  seated,  which  invitation  the  latter  accepted  imme 
diately,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 

"  I  have  so  long  a  story  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Edgar,  that  I 
must  request  you  also  to  take  a  chair,  and  to  give  me  your 
closest  attention." 

"  If  your  story  should  1)3  as  pointless  as  the  one  to 
which  I  listened  when  I  met  you  in  Rahandabed,  I  doubt 
the  propriety  of  giving  it  very  close  attention,"  answered 
Edgar,  making  no  attempt  to  seat  himself. 

"  I  have  come  to  explain  that  very  pointless  story,"  re 
sponded  Ordotts,  "  and  to  supplement  it  by  a  still  more 
extraordinary  tale  ;  but  I  must  beg,  Mr.  Edgar,  that  you 
be  seated.  My  tale  is  too  long,  and,  as  you  will  find  be- 
fore  I  have  proceeded  very  far,  too  interesting,  for  you  tj 
hear  it  standing." 

Edgjar  took  a  chair  at  some  distance  from  his  visitor, 
but  without  any  relaxation  of  his  cold,  haughty  manner. 

Ordotte  was  not  abashed ;  he  felt  too  certain  of  his 
power  ta  produce  a  speedy  change  in  that  rigid  counte 
nance,  and  he  began  at  once  : 

"  When  your  young  wife  died  many  years  ago,  she  left 
to  you  an  infant  daughter  whom  you  dearly  loved.  When 
the  child  was  two  weeks  old  the  house  was  broken  into,  it 
was  supposed  by  gypsies,  and  the  babe  was  "stolen.  A 
fortnight  after,  your  brother  sent  to  you  that  your  child 
was  in  his  house.  You  found  such  to  be  the  case,  but 
found  also  that  his  own  babe,  of  the  same  age,  so  exactly 
resembled  your  own  that  you  could  not  tell  them  apart. 
Your  brother  swore  that  he  could  do  so,  having  put  a 
secret  mark  upon  your  child  which  would  only  reappear 
under  the  action  of  the  Indian  essence  that  had  been  used 
to  make  it.  That  secret  mark  comprised  the  capital  let 
ters  E.  E.  on  the  child's  left  wrist." 

A  change  had  come  into  Mr.  Edgar's  countenance  ;  it 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  343. 

was  losing  its  pallor,  and  becoming  flushed  and  heated. 
But  Ordotte.  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  He  continued  : 

"  In  jour  dilemma,  you  proposed  at  last  to  take  both 
children,  giving  a  large  sum  of  money  so  as  to  have  legal 
claim  to  your  brother's  child.  Your  brother  then  left 
England,  taking  his  wife  with  him,  and  seven,  years  after 
ward  I  met  him  in  India." 

The  flush  had  increased  in  Edgar's  face,  and  the  per 
spiration  stood  in  great  drops  upon  his  forehead,  but  he 
made  no  motion  to  wipe  it  away,  and  Ordotte  still  seemed 
not  to  notice  any  change  in  his  companion. 

"  "When  I  met  Henry  Edgar  in  Calcutta,"  he  continued, 
"  he  was  poor,  having  dissipated  everything  he  had  ever 
possessed  ;  he  was  a  widower  also,  and  childless,  having 
lost  his  wife  and  son  a  couple  of  years  before,  and  he  was 
in  somewhat  failing  health ;  but  at  times  he  was  a  genial 
companion,  and  having  it  in  my  power  to  better  his  posi 
tion,  he  became  attached  to  me.  After  we  had  been  some 
time  associated  ho  gave  me  his  confidence  ;  all  that  I  have 
told  you. 

"  Hating  you  for  being  your  father's  favorite,  and  for 
being  the  cause,  as  lie  imagined,  of  his  own  disinheritance, 
he  thought  that  nothing  would  stab  your  heart  so  keenly 
as  to  steal  from  you  your  motherless  infant.  It  was  a  bold 
undertaking,  but  he  knew  the  house  so  well  that  he  felt 
he  could  venture  it.  lie  did  so,  and  succeeded  in  stealing 
the  sleeping  babe  from  the  nurse's  arms.  He  brought  it 
home,  intending  to  start  with  it  almost  immediately  for 
the  gypsy  camp,  which  he  knew  was  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  neighborhood.  lie  felt  that  he  could  dis 
pose  of  it  there.  But  when  his  wife  saw  the  child, 
so  like  her  own,  the  springs  of  pity  in  her  maternal  heart 
welled  up  ;  she  begged  her  husband  to  forego  his  plan,  to 
do  anything  he  would,  but  not  to  give  it  to  the  terri 
ble  fate  that  might  await  it  among  the  gypsies.  He, 
too,  noted  and  was  surprised  at  the  exact  resemblance  of 
the  babes,  and  it  caused  another  thought  to  enter  his 
mind.  Only  a  week  before,  one  of  his  riotous  companions 


34:4:  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

had  been  affording  amusement  to  his  friends  by  experi 
menting  with  a  little  vial  of  essence  that  had  been  brought 
from  India  by  a  sailor  uncle.  This  essence  produced  on 
human  flesh,  marks  which  only  remained  while  they  were 
subjected  to  its  action.  Henry  Edgar,  much  inter 
ested  in  it,  begged  from  his  friend  what  remained  in  the 
vial.  He  remembered  that  now,  brought  it  forth,  marked 
his  brother's  child  as  I  have  told  you,  disclosed  to  his  wife 
how  he  intended  to  harrow  his  brother's  soul,  and,  as  she 
was  very  much  in  awe  of  him,  frightened  laer  into  the 
most  abject  submission. 

"  Suspicion  settling  in  some  manner  upon  the  gypsies, 
Henry  Edgar  was  enabled  to  secrete  the  little  stranger  in 
his  own  home  for  a  fortnight,  during  which  time  his  wife 
nursed  it  with  her  own  child.  He  did  that  in  order  to 
make  assurance  doubly  sure  ;  that  the  very  fact  of  nurs 
ing  at  the  same  breast,  might  help  to  cement,  in  some  way, 
the  singular  resemblance. 

•"  When  he  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Edgar,  he  was  defiant  of 
every  consequence ;  he  had  gained  his  revenge  in  depriv 
ing  you  of  the  certain  knowledge  of  which  was  your  child, 
and  he  was  equally  satisfied,  when  you  proposed  as  the 
last  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  to  take  both  children. 
Knowing  with  what  detestation  you  regarded  the  low 
woman  lie  had  married,  he  felt  that  in  thus  confounding  her 
child  with  your  own,  he  had  given  you  a  lasting  wound. 

"  His  wife,  apart  from  the  submission  which  she  was 
compelled  to  yield  to  her  husband,  was  satisfied  to  resign 
her  child  when  she  knew  it  was  going  to  your  care.  It 
would  be  better  provided  for  than  with  her. 

"  All  this  Mr.  Henry  Edgar  told  me,  and  after  that,  I 
studied  him  with  more  interest,  feeling  that  I  understood 
the  cause  of  his  odd  impulses. 

"  The  story  I  told  you  in  Rahandabed,  giving  my  hero 
the  name  of  Klip  Kargarton,  was  a  true  one  ;  only  the 
hero  was  Henry  Edgar.  We  hunted  in  the  jungles  as  I 
then  described,  and  brought  the  cubs  of  a  tiger  away.  I 
explained  to  myself  his  strange  anxiety  to  get  the  cubs 


A    FATAL    KESEMBLANCE.  3i5 

to  the  tiger  who  had  lost  her  own,  and  his  disappointment 
when  the  beast  did  not  seem  to  know  the  difference,  by 
thinking  that  it  was  a  sort  of  experiment  to  assuage,  per 
haps,  his  own  remorse.  He  wanted,  if  even  by  such  far 
fetched  and  absurd  means,  to  assure  himself  that  you 
had  been  able  by  a  sort  of  instinct  to  know  your  own 
child  at  last.  But  when  I  ventured  to  speak  to  him  about 
it,  to  suggest  the  propriety  of  his  return  to  you,  and  to 
venture  to  predict  your  forgiveness  in  consideration  of  the 
atonement  he  would  make,  by  proving  to  you  which  was 
your  child,  he  would  not  listen  to  me. 

"  His  hatred  of  you  at  such  times  seemed  to  come  up 
with  as  much  vigor  as  it  could  ever  have  done.  Once, 
when  he  thought  he  was  dying,  he  said  to  me  that  if  he 
should  die,  I  might,  if  I  ever  met  you,  disclose  the  con 
fidence  he  had  given  me.  He  could  not  help  me  in  the 
matter  of  the  essence,  for  there  had  been  none  of  it  left 
after  he  had  marked  your  child,  but  he  and  I  both  knew 
that  if  it  had  been  once  obtained  from  India,  it  could 
surely  be  obtained  again. 

"  He  did  not  die  then,  however,  and  when  I  was  about 
to  leave  India  for  England  in  order  to  take  possession  of 
a  wealthy  bequest,  he  said  to  me  the  last  night  we  passed 
together : 

" 4  Should  anything  ever  occur  in  your  future  life,  should 
you  ever  make  any  acquaintance  that  might  cause  you  to 
wish  to  reveal  my  story,  you  may  do  so,  if  you  will  ascer 
tain  first  the  fact  of  my  death ;  or,  if  you  cannot  get  an 
absolute  certainty  of  that,  but  still  can  discover  nothing 
to  tell  that  I  am  alive,  you  may  consider  yourself  released 
from  your  promise.' 

"  We  parted  then,  and  though  we  corresponded  infre 
quently  for  a  time,  before  a  year  had  passed,  I  ceased  to 
hear  anything  from  him. 

"  In  Rahandabed  I  met  Miss  T^ed  Edgar,  and  as  I  heard 
her  name  from  her  own  lip;?,  I  thought  of  Henry  Edgar. 
There  was  a  family  likeness  between  them,  and  I  was 
satisfied  in  my  own  mind  that  she  was  one  of  the  children 


346  A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 

of  whom  he  had  spoken.  Later,  I  met  the  other  Miss 
Edgar,  and  shortly  afterwards,  you.  Your  likeness  to 
your  brother  was  startling,  and  knowing  so  much  of  your 
secret  history  from  his  lips,  I  could  not  resist  the  tempta 
tion  of  probing  you  a  little. 

"  I  did  so,  as  you  have  admitted  remembering,  with  the 
story  of  Klip  Kargarton,  and  the  result  convinced  me 
that  the  wound  given  by  your  brother  rankled  still.  Much 
as  you  fancied  you  loved  the  beautiful  being  whom  you 
called  your  daughter,  there  were  moments  when  you  feared 
that  you  might  be  mistaken. 

"  I  was  not  at  liberty  to  settle  your  doubts,  because  I 
had  made  no  effort  to  inform  myself  of  your  brother's 
death  ;  nor  did  I  have  with  me  the  essence  without  which 
I  could  not  prove  which  was  your  child.  In  order  to  get 
that,  I  should  have  to  journey  to  India,  and  I  was  enjoy 
ing  myself  so  well  in  Rahandabed,  that  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  leave  the  place.  Also,  there  seemed  to  be  no 
very  good  reason  why  I  should  disturb  the  existing  order 
of  things. 

"  Miss  Ned  Edgar,  from  my  close  observation,  bade  fair 
to  become  in  time  Mrs.  Carnew,  though  she  was  too 
modest  and  too  humble  to  dream  of  such  a  thing  for  her 
self  then,  and  in  that  case  sha  would  be  quite  as  well  off 
as  if  she  were  acknowledged  to  be  your  daughter. 

"  As  I  told  you  during  the  conversation  we  had  in  Ra- 
handabed,  I  have  been  enabled  from  early  boyhood  to 
divine  character,  sometimes  with  a  sharpness  surprising  to 
myself.  .And  having  this  power  I  exerted  it  fully  in 
reading  the  characters  of  the  Misses  Edgar,  discovering 
that  while  one,  she  who  has  since  become  Mrs.  Carnew, 
had  a  rigid  principle  of  rectitude,  and  a  most  unusual 
capacity  for  self-sacrifice,  the  other  had  a  marvellous 
power  for  sacrificing  her  friends  whenever  they  opposed 
her  own  interests,  and  an  utter  disregard  for  all  the  little 
ways  of  honor.  This  discovery,  however,  I  kept  quite  to 
myself,  not  even  acting  upon  it  in  any  way,  until  Mrs. 


A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  34:7 

Carnew  was  accused  of  that  of  which  I  felt  her  cousin, 
Mrs.  Brekbellew,  had  been  guilty." 

He  was  obliged  to  p.ui30,  for  Edgar  had  risen  to  his 
feet,  as  if  he  were  about  to  utter  some  angry  interruption 
But  he  only  sat  down  again,  and  for  the  first  time  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  face. 

"  Shall  I  proceed  ? "  asked  Ordotte. 

Edgar  nodded. 

"Then,"  resumed  Ordotte,  "-it  seemed  to  be  my  duty 
to  exert  myself  to  go  abroad  for  three  reasons ;  the  first, 
to  obtain  what  proofs  I  could  of  Henry  Edgar's  death,  if 
indeed  he  had  died,  as,  remembering  the  feeble  state  in 
which  I  left  him,  I  felt  convinced  he  must  have  done ; 
the  second,  to  get  the  Indian  essence  of  which  he  had 
spoken,  and  the  third,  to  extort  from  Mrs.  Brekbellew  a 
confession  that  would  clear  her  calumniated  cousin. 

"  Regarding  the  first  object  of  my  journey,  I  succeeded 
in  tracing  Henry  Edgar  only  to  the  time  that  he  too  left 
India,  eight  months  after  my  own  departure  thence,  in 
tending  to  enter  some  European  hospital,  but,  with  that, 
my  clew  ended ;  I  could  ascertain  nothing  further  about 
him.  I  considered  myself  released  from  my  promise  to 
him,  and  having,  after  much  travel  through  India,  ob 
tained  the  essence,  or  what,  from  Edgar's  description  of 
it,  seemed  to  be  such,  I  went  to  Paris,  and  cabled  upon 
Mrs.  Brekbellew. 

"  Without  letting  her  know  my  object,  I,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  her  company,  tried  the  essence  upon  her  wrist.  It 
failed  to  bring  forth  any  letters.  Shortly  after,  in  a  pri 
vate  interview  with  her,  I  told  her  much  of  the  story  I 
have  now  told  you,  revealing  the  real  object  of  my  ex 
periment  upon  her  wrist,  and  convincing  her  that  it  had 
proved  she  was  not  your  daughter.  But  I  did  not  say  to 
her  what  I  shall  now  say  to  you  ;  that  it  may  be  the 
essence  wrill  not  work  upon  Mrs.  Carnew's  wrist.  Not 
knowing  the  name  of  the  drug,  I  have  nothing  to  assure 
me  that  I  have  really  obtained  the  right  article,  save  as  it 
tallies  with  the  description  that  Henry  Edgar  gave  of  it. 


348  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

But  its  possession  helped  me  to  obtain  that  which  was 
even  of  more  importance  than  what  it  was  expected  to 
prove — the  innocence  of  a  cruelly  wronged  woman." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  to  take  from  his  breast  Mrs. 
Brekbellew's  statement.  Placing  it  in  Edgar's  hand,  he 
resumed : 

"  Read,  in  the  words  of  her  whom  you  have  regarded 
as  your  daughter,  a  confession  that  fully  exonerates  Mrs. 
Carnew." 

Edgar  mechanically  opened  the  paper,  but  again  he  had 
to  wipe  his  perspiring  face  before  lie  could  read  it.  When 
he  had  read  it,  he  arose. 

"  I  must  retire  for  a  little,  Mr.  Ordotte,"  lie  said  with 
a  sort  of  strange,  sad  entreaty  in  his  voice,  that  was  in 
pitiful  contrast  to  the  manner  with  which  he  had  first  ad 
dressed  his  visitor.  "  Will  you  excuse  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,1'  replied  Ordotte,  rising  also  and  bowing  ; 
"  but  permit  me  to  give  you  this  letter  from  Mrs.  Brek- 
bellew,"  and  he  drew  from  his  breast  the  letter  that  he 
had  also  extorted  from  her. 

Edgar  took  it,  and  retaining  the  statement,  he  turned 
with  both  from  the  room. 

LYI. 

The  bowed,  broken,  blighted  man  ascended,  not  to  his 
own  apartment,  nor  yet  to  his  private  study,  but  to  the 
room  that  contained  the  painting  of  his  wife.  Flinging 
aside  the  silken  curtain  that  hung  before  it,  and  placing 
loosely  in  his  breast  the  papers  given  him  by  Ordotte,  he 
dropped  on  his  knees,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
leaned  the  latter  011  the  base  of  the  frame  of  the  easel  on 
which  the  picture  rested. 

All  the  anguish  that  he  had  ever  suffered  since  he  had 
looked  last  on  the  fair,  dead  face  of  the  original  of  that 
portrait,  now  swept  across  his  soul  anew  ;  he  experienced 
again  every  harrowing  doubt,  every  fear  which  he  had  so 
often  felt  during  those  long  twenty-four  years.  His  pride 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  349 

in,  and  liis  love  for  Edna,  so  frequently — despite  tlie  assur 
ance  that  lie  endeavored  to  give  himself — disturbed  by 
the  thought  that  after  all  he  might  be  deceived ;  his  stud 
ied  coldness  to  Ned,  his  satisfaction  at  hearing  anything  of 
her  which  might  justify  that  coldness,  and  put  down  the 
gentle,  reproachful  face  that  occasionally  visited  him  in 
his  fevered  dreams ;  the  ungrateful  return  which  Edna 
had  made  for  his  love  and  lavish  indulgence ;  the  positive 
heartlessness  she  had  shown  regarding  his  feelings ;  the 
lack  of  womanliness  in  her  choice  of  a  husband,  and  now, 
the  discovery  of  her  dreadful  deceit,  all  came  before  him 
with  a  sickening  vividness  and  horror.  But  that  which 
harrowed  him  more  than  all  the  others  was  the  thought 
that  he  had  been  giving  his  love  and  tender,  fatherly  care 
to  her  who  had  proved  herself  so  miserably  undeserving, 
and  who  after  all  was  not  his  child  ;  while  to  the  one  who 
had  actually  made  the  very  marriage  he  had  sought  for 
Edna,  and  in  other  things,  according  to  the  recent  account, 
had  comported  herself  in  a  way  worthy  of  his  affection, 
he  had  given  coldness  and  contempt.  He  buried  his 
face  deeper  in  his  hands  and  groaned  aloud. 

Still,  the  next  instant  he  felt  that  he  could  not  bo  fnre 
of  what  Ordotte  had  stated  ;  for  had  not  Ordotte  himself 
said  that  the  test  might  fail  when  it  should  be  applied  to 
Mrs.  Carnew  ?  And  in  that  case  he  would  be  in  the  same 
horrid  doubt  as  ever. 

An  involuntary  motion  that  he  at  that  instant  made, 
disturbed  the  letter  he  had  placed  in  his  bosom  ;  it  fell  in 
a  rustling  manner  to  the  floor.  He  was  attracted  by  the 
sound,  and  uncovering  his  face  he  looked  down  at  it. 

The  superscription  was  uppermost,  and  he  recognized 
Edna's  penmanship  with  a  sort  of  shrinking  horror. 
Still,  he  lifted  the  letter,  and  rising,  seated  himself  directly 
in  front  of  the  picture.  Then  he  broke  the  seal  and  read  : 

"  This  is  to  certify  that  the  statement  I  have  written 
to-night,  and  given  to  Mr.  Ordotte,  is  correct.  I  became 
Richard  Mackay's  wife  after  I  had  deceived  him  into  be 
lieving  that  I  was  Ned  Edgar.  I  met  him  for  the  first 


350  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

time  when  Ned  and  I  were  out  riding  on  horseback.  He 
gave  me  a  drink  of  water  from  a  cup,  which  he  formed  of 
a  leaf,  and  I  was  struck  with  his  beauty,  as  I  knew  he  was 
with  mine. 

"  I  contrived  to  see  him  afterward  many  times,  allow 
ing  him  at  first  to  think  that  I  was  Miss  Edgar  the  heiress, 
but  afterward  duping  him  into  believing  that  I  was  Ned. 
I  did  that,  when  I  found  my  affections  involved,  to  save 
myself,  and  to  test  his  attachment. 

"  He,  glad  to  find  that  I  was  only  a  friend,  dependent 
upon  Mr.  Edgar's  bounty,  urged  me  to  marry  him,  say 
ing  if  I  would  do  so  he  would  go  to  New  York,  and  en 
deavor  to  make  a  living  by  which  in  the  future  he  could 
support  me ;  that  the  very  fact  of  being  my  husband 
would  give  him  ambition  and  courage. 

u  I  consented,  stipulating  for  the  strictest  secrecy  ;  and 
one  evening,  during  the  week  before  Ned's  departure  for 
Bahandabed,  I  retired  early  to  my  room  on  the  pretense 
of  ajieadache.  There,  telling  my  maid  not  to  come  to 
me  until  late  next  morning,  I  arranged  my  dress  so  as  to 
make  my  resemblance  to  Ned  even  more  perfect  than  I 
knew  it  was  already,  and  I  stole  from  the  house. 

"  A  distance  down  the  road  I  met  Mackay,  who  was 
waiting  with  a  conveyance.  We  drove  to  Khinebeck, 
where  we  were  married  by  Mr.  Hay  man,  and  I  registered 
as  Ned  Edgar.  Then  we  went  to  a  hotel,  remained  until 
the  early  morning,  and  drove  back  to  Barrytown. 

"  I  knew  that  Ned  was  accustomed  to  early  walks  about 
the  grounds,  and  so  closely  resembling  her,  I  hoped  to 
escape  any  unpleasant  recognition,  and  I  succeeded.  I 
reached  my  room  without  being  discovered,  and  it  was 
not  suspected  that  I  had  been  away  from  home  all  night. 

"  Mackay  had  promised  me  to  go  to  New  York  imme 
diately,  lie  did  so,  and  I  wrote  to  him  that  I  had  ac 
cepted  a  position  as  companion  to  Mrs.  Doloran  in  C-  — . 
In  a  few  months,  I  accompanied  you  to  New  York  for 
the  purpose  of  being  introduced  into  society.  While 
there  I  found  means  of  frequent  secret  communication 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  351 

with  Mackay,  to  wliom  I  explained  my  presence  in  New 
York  by  saying  that  I  had  been  requested  to  accompany 
Miss  Edgar,  and  for  that  reason  had  left  Kahandabed  ; 
that  Mr.^Edgar's  kindness  allowing  me  to  have  a  maid,  I 
had  given  the  situation  to  his  sister. 

"  I  brought  Annie  Mackay  with  me  from  Barrytown 
as  my  maid,  because  I  knew  that  she  was  her  brother's 
sole  confidant,  and  because  I  felt  that  I  also,  during  the 
fast-approaching  month  of  June,  must  have  a  confidant. 
She,  never  having  seen  me  in  company  with  her  brother, 
and  knowing  that  I  was  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,  did  not 
dream  that  it  was  I  who  was  her  brother's  wife  ;  for,  as  he 
had  told  her  all  when  he  supposed  that  I  was  the  heiress,  so 
did  he  undeceive  her  when,  as  he  imagined,  lie  was  himself 
undeceived.  So,  she  also  supposed  it  was  Ned  he  had  mar 
ried  ;  and  when,  being  obliged  to  tell  h?r  the  truth,  I  did 
so,  she  was  startled  and  horrified.  But  I  told  her  that  I 
had  practised  this  deception  on  her  brother  because  I  loved 
him  so  passionately,  and  because  I  knew  if  he  should  dis 
cover  how  much  1  was  above  him  it  would  break  his  heart. 
She  was  consoled,  and  she  pledged  herself  to  keep  my 
secret  as  faithfully  as  I  myself  kept  it.  Not  even  to  her 
brother  would  she  give  a  hint  of  his  mistake. 

"  I  did  love  Dick  Mackay  when  I  married  him.  I  loved 
him  so  wildly  that  I  thought  I  was  willing  to  make  every 
sacrifice  for  him ;  but,  afterward,  when  I  reflected 
upon  what  I  had  done,  I  became  desperate  from  remorse 
and  fear.  I  no  longer  loved  him.  I  wanted  to  get  away 
from  him  forever.  But  I  had  to  be  cautious,  and  to  pre 
tend  that  I  cared  for  him  still,  lest  he  might  betray  me  in 
some  way. 

"  I  passed  sleepless  nights  in  endeavoring  to  contrive 
some  means  of  getting  away  from  you  during  the  month 
of  June  following  my  marriage  with  Mackay,  and  during 
which  you  intended  to  have  me  accompany  you  to  some 
seaside  resort  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York.  Fortune  fa 
vored  me.  Just  when  I  had  begun  to  be  in  absolute 
despair,  you  were  summoned  to  England " 


352  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

Edgar  looked  up  from  the  letter  to  recall  that  English 
visit  upon  which  he  had  been  summoned. 

He  had  gone  on  information  sent  to  him  by  one  of  his 
English  friends,  a  gentleman  who  was  chaplain  to  an  hos 
pital,  and  who  knew  Edgar's  early  history.  The  informa 
tion  was  that  a  man  in  exceedingly  weak  health,  and  giv 
ing  the  name  of  Henry  Edgar,  but  who  refused  to  tell 
anything  else,  had  obtained  admission  to  the  hospital,  and 
by  his  name,  and  other  things  about  him  detected  by 
close  observation,  aroused  the  suspicion,  and  finally  firm 
conviction  of  the  chaplain,  that  the  dying  man  was  the 
long  unheared-of  Henry  Edgar.  On  such  information 
had  Edward  Edgar  hurried  to  London,  praying  that  it 
might  be  his  brother,  and  that  he  might  live  long  enough 
to  clear  the  horrible  mystery  of  which  he  had  been  the 
cause.  But  the  man  on  Edgar's  arrival  had  been  in  his 
grave  a  week !  He  thought  of  all  that  now,  as  he  contin 
ued  to  look  away  from  the  letter,  and  he  thought  also  how 
it  tallied  with  the  last  clew  of  his  brother  which  Ordotte 
had  obtained. 

At  length  he  resumed  reading,  beginning  again  at  the 
words  :  "  you  were  summoned  to  England,  and  you  pressed 
me  to  accompany  you.  I  refused,  alleging  my  fear  of  the 
voyage,  my  dislike  to  leave  the  society  by  which  I  was 
surrounded,  everything  that  I  could  think  of  as  an  excuse. 
You  reluctantly  gave  me  my  way,  and  I  saw  with  relief 
your  departure  upon  a  journey  that  must  certainly  occupy 
a  couple  of  months.  There  only  remained  Mrs.  Stafford 
to  be  disposed  of,  and  that  I  succeeded  in  doing  by  feign 
ing  to  accept  an  invitation  to  Staten  Island. 

"Mackay  managed  everything  else  for  me.  He  had 
fpund  an  humble  but  respectable  widow  in  a  part  of  "New 
York  City  willing  to  offer  me  a  refuge,  and  thither  I 
went,  accompanied  by  Annie  Mackay,  instead  of  to  Staten 
Island. 

"  Mackay  showed  this  widow,  Mrs.  Bunmer,  our  mar 
riage  certificate,  and  told  her  that  we  wanted  everything 
so  secret,  lest  Mr.  Edgar,  upon  whose  bounty  I  depended, 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  353 

should  find  it  out,  and  in  his  anger  at  my  making  such  a 
marriage,  would  cut  me  off  entirely.  But  we  did  not  tell 
her  where  Mr.  Edgar  lived. 

"  My  child  was  born  in  her  house,  and  I  remained  there 
until  July;  then  I  joined  Mrs.  Stafford,  who  was  quite 
unsuspicious,  even  though  I  had  told  her  not  to  write  to 
me  while  I  was  away,  as  it  was  an  unpleasant  exertion 
for  me  to  answer  any  letters  save  those  from  my  father. 
Almost  immediately,  I  was  invited  to  visit  Bahandabed 
by  the  very  friends  with  whom  Mrs.  Stafford  and  I  were 
spending  a  few  weeks  preparatory  to  our  return  to  Barry- 
town.  I  accepted  the  invitation  intending  to  take  Annie 
with  me.  1  felt  as  if  I  must  never  lose  sight  of  her.  But 
she  became  ill,  pined  to  go  home,  promising  me  sacredly, 
however,  to  keep  all  my  secrets  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Stafford 
volunteered  to  accompany  her,  preferring  to  do  so  that 
she  might  return  to  her  own  home  in  Weewald  Place,  I 
did  not  object.  Mrs.  Stafford  felt  no  uneasiness  at  leaving 
me,  as  I  was  with  friends.  I  went  to  Rahandabed,  writing 
to  Mackay  that  I  was  going  back  there  with  Miss  Edgar, 
and  that  on  no  account  must  he  come  into  the  neighborhood. 
I  would  always  communicate  with  him  in  writing,  but,  as 
he  loved  me,  he  must  not  come  within  miles  of  Rahanda- 
bed.  That  as  /could  not  attend  to  our  child,  he  must  be 
father  and  mother  to  it.  I  felt  assured  that  he  would  do 
all  1  asked,  for  I  knew  how  madly  he  loved  me. 

"  Rahandabed  was  so  gay,  so  delightful,  I  tried  to  throw 
away  every  care  and  be  happy,  too.  I  tried  to  forget 
Mackay ;  only  when  through  very  fear  I  wrote  to.  him. 
I  expected  to  meet  Ned,  but  she  had  gone  to  visit  somo 
one  in  Albany,  and  did  not  return  until  I  had  been  a  fort 
night  the  guest  of  Mrs.  Doloran. 

I  met  Mr.  Carnew,  and  deeply  as  I  once  had  fancied 
I  loved  Dick  Mackay,  I  now  loved  Carnew.  I  struggled 
against  it,  but  I  could  not  resist  being  delighted  with  his 
attentions,  nor  could  I  bring  myself  to  reject  them.  But 
I  did  not  intend  to  do  any  great  wrong.  I  meant  if  he 


354:  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

sliould  propose  to  me  to  tell  him  then  why  I  could  not  ac 
cept  him. 

u  But  Mackay  disobeyed  my  wishes.  He  came  into  the 
neighborhood  of  Raliandabed.  I  caught  sight  of  him  one 
afternoon  as  I  was  riding  on  horseback  with  some  of  the 
guests.  My  blood  boiled  with  anger  and  hatred,  for  I 
feared  that  he  would  accost  me.  But  he  did  not;  only 
stood  there  looking  at  us,  and  as  I  passed,  making  a  mo 
tion  that  seemed  careless  to  others,  but  which  I  interpreted 
to  mean  for  me  to  come  out  to  meet  him  upon  that  road. 
I  did  so  that  same  evening,  and  found  that  I  had  inter 
preted  his  motion  aright.  1  pacified  him  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  won  from  him  a  renewal  of  his  pledge  of  se 
crecy,  by  promising  to  meet  him  again  in  a  more  secluded 
spot 

"  But  that  second  secret  interview  was  partially  over 
heard  by  Ned,  who  recognized  my  voice.  I  fled  when  I 
found  her  searching  for  me,  and  afterward  I  contrived 
to  make  her  think  that  she  was  mistaken. 

"  When  Mackay  decided  to  take  his  own  life,  he  sent  a 
note  to  Rahandabed,  intended  for  me,  but  directed  to 
Miss  Ned  Edgar,  for  I  had  not  undeceived  him.  I  saw 
her  open  the  note  and  read  it,  and  I  knew  at  once,  from  the 
bewildered  expression  of  her  face,  that  she  had  received 
a  communication  which  was  intended  for  me.  But  there 
was  no  opportunity  for  me  to  recover  it,  much  as  I  burned 
to  do  so,  until  Mackay 's  suicide  was  discovered.  My 
heart  misgave  me  that  it  was  he.  In  my  fear  and  horror,  I 
confided  part  of  my  secrets  to  Ned,  but  I  bound  her  by 
oath,  never  to  reveal  them.  Together  we  went  to  the 
out-house  where  they  had  laid  him,  and  I  recognized  my 
husband — 

'Edgar  threw  the  letter  from  him,  in  a  sudden  paroxysm 
of  anger  and  disgust ;  he  remembered  so  distinctly  the 
very  words  of  Edna,  when  she  had  told  him  that  Ned  had 
sought  her  for  company  in  going  to  view  Mackay's  re 
mains.  And  then  he  remembered  Dyke's  plea  for  Ned, 
her  oath  of  which  he  had  spoken  as  a  very  link  of  evidence 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  355 

in  her  favor.     And  yet  lie,  Edgar,  had  been  so  cruel,  so 
blind! 

lie  arose  and  paced  the  little  apartment  for  a  few 
moments  to  endeavor  to  gain  some  control  of  his  agitation. 

Then  he  forced  himself  to  finish  the  dreadful  letter. 

"  As  1  have  told  so  much,"  it  continued,  "  I  may,  in 
justice  to  myself,  say  that  I  married  Brekbellew  because 
I  could  not  win  Carnew,  and  also  that  I  might  go  abroad 
to  get  away  from  any  consequences  of  my  secret  mar 
riage. 

"EDNA  BREKBELLEW." 

The  letter  was  finished,  and  finished  without  a  word 
expressive  of  penitence  or  remorse  for  the  terrible  wrongs 
of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  In  her  statements,  there 
had  not  been  the  faintest  trace  of  sorrow  for  the  poor, 
old  man  whose  son  she  had  killed,  nor  for  the  wife  whose 
happiness  she  had  blighted ;  and,  more  than  all,  she  had 
not  shown  for  her  abandoned  offspring  even  the  common 
regard  of  motherhood. 

Surely,  here  were  traits  to  warrant  her  being  the  child 
of  low  parentage  ;  no  daughter  of  her,  to  whose  portrait 
he  now  lifted  his  eyes,  could  have  had  such  a  character. 
Once  again  he  went  and  knelt,  as  he  did  before,  in  front 
of  the  picture  to  let  his  anguish  have  its  way;  then,  when 
he  had  somewhat  calmed  himself,  and  felt  that  he  could 
return  to  Ordotte  with  some  degree  of  composure,  he 
descended  to  that  gentleman,  who,  finding  that  he  was  ex 
pected  to  pass  so  long  a  time  in  solitude,  had  wandered 
to  the  other  rooms  on  the  hall,  and  was  interesting  him 
self  in  every  object  that  he  saw. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Edgar,  when  at  length  he  found 
him,  "  for  forgetting  so  strangely  all  the  rules  of  hospi 
tality.  But  I  shall  try  to  atone  for  my  negligence.  I  may 
claim  your  company  for  some  days,  may  I  not  ? " 

lie  seemed  so  absolutely  broken  in  appearance  and 
voice  that  Ordotte,  throl^h  sheer  sympathy,  had  to  make 
an  effort  to  answer  him. 

"  Mr.  Carnew  and  his  wife  will  be  here  to-morrow.     I 


356  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

intended,  with  your  kind  Dermission,  to  remain  to  meet 
them." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Ordotte ;  and  are  they  coming  be 
cause  " — he  hesitated  strangely — ;;  because  Mrs.  Carnew 
has  been  told  that  she  may  be  my  daughter?  " 

uj^To;  Mr.  Carnew  was  desirous  that  she  should  be 
told  nothing  about  it,  in  order  to  have  nothing  to  distract 
her  from  her  reunion  with  him.  So  we  arranged  that  she 
was  to  learn  nothing  about  this  mysterious  proof  of  her 
parentage  until  she  should  learn  it  here,  in  your  presence." 

A  pleased  look  came  into  Edgar's  face. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said,  "  very  glad ;  and  will  you 
satisfy  me  further  by  promising  that  Mrs.  Carnew  shall 
not  be  told  until  I  give  permission?  Her  reconciliation 
with  her  husband  will  be  so  much  happiness  that  it  can 
make  little  difference  to  defer  for  awhile  the  story  of  her 
parentage." 

Ordotte  bowed,  as  he  answered  : 

"  I  think  I  can  promise  that  any  revelation  made  to 
Mrs.  Carnew  shall  be  made  only  with  your  consent  and 
approval." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Ordotte." 

In  his  voice,  as  well  as  in  his  manner,  there  was  painful 
evidence  of  the  struggle  going  on  within  him ;  as  if  he 
wanted  to  depart  from  his  wonted  cold,  stern  bearing,  but 
was  still  bound  to  it  by  the  pride  with  which  he  so  con 
stantly  masked  "his  feelings. 

The  signal  for  the  late  lunch  sounded,  and  Edgar  sum 
moned  a  servant  to  conduct  his  visitor  to  one  of  the  guest 
chambers,  in  order  that  he  might  be  refreshed  by  an  ab 
lution  before  he  descended  to  the  dining-room. 

LYII. 

Happy  ]^ed !  Her  joy  seemed  so  complete  that  she 
almost  doubted  it,  and  she  feared  to  go  to  sleep,  lest  she 
should  wake  and  find  it  all  a  dream.  The  visit  that  she 
had  contemplated  making  with  her  husband  to  the  home 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

of  lier  childhood  could  never  have  been  so  full  of  delight 
as  was  this  one,  when  he  was  with  her  after  so  cruel  a 
separation.  And  when  she  heard  from  his  own  lips  how 
he  had  never  ceased  to  love  her,  how  his  l>ve  had  driven 
him  to  make  that  secret  visit  which  had  so  frightened  her, 
and  how  he  had  only  waited  for  one  word  from  her  to 
make  him  flee  to  her,  she  threw  her  arms  about  him  again 
and  murmured : 

"  My  own  true  husband !  " 

They  were  so  absorbed  in  themselves  that  they  forgot 
the  presence  of  Meg,  to  whom  Carnew  had  been  intro 
duced  lovingly  by  Ned,  and  with  whom  he  had  warmly 
shaken  hands,  the  old  woman  had  smiled  and  nodded, 
and  seemed  as  pleased  as  Ned  could  wish  her  to  be,  but 
evidently  without  comprehending  what  it  w^as  all  about. 
They  had  not  even  closed  the  door  of  the  room  in  which 
they  sat,  and  Anne  McCabe,  in  the  apartment  adjoining, 
where  she  was  engaged  in  preparing  as  sumptuous  a  supper 
as  the  larder  of  the  little  home  afforded,  heard  sufficient 
to  fulfil  her  own  prediction  of  some  time  knowing  what 
had  been  the  trouble  in  Mrs.  Carnew's  life. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  now,  Ned,"  said  Alan,  as  she  lifted 
her  head  from  his  breast,  u  to  whom  you  gave  the  oath  of 
which  you  told  me,  before  you  left  Kahandabed  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  can  tell  you  now.  Mrs.  Brekbellew  confided 
to  me,  at  the  time  that  Mackay's  body  was  found,  that 
she  had  married  him  in  secret,  first  making  me  swear 
never  to  reveal  it.  As  she  has  herself  revealed  it,  I  do  not 
consider  tiiat  I  am  any  longer  bound  by  my  oath." 

"  And  how  could  you  keep  that  oath  in  spite  of  all  that 
afterward  happened  ? "  asked  Alan,  holding  her  a  little 
from  him  and  looking  down  into  her  face,  with  new 
marvel  at  the  character  that  could  thus  sacrifice  its  own 
dearest  interest  to  a  principle  of  honor. 

"  I  wrote  to  her,  telling  her  everything  that  had  oc 
curred,  and  begging  her  to  release  me  from  my  pledge  ; 
but,  if  she  received  my  letter,  she  has  never  answered  it." 

"  Received  your  letter  \ "  broke  from  him  in  a  burst  of 


358  A     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

indignation.  "  I  feel  sure  she  received  it,  but  to  have 
answered  it  would  have  been  to  disclose  her  own  perfidy," 
becoming  so  hotly  indignant,  as  he  remembered  how  art 
fully  Edna  had  once  insinuated  to  him  that  Ned  had  a 
secret  acquaintance  with  young  Mackay,  that  he  could 
not  restrain  himself  from  coupling  Mrs.  Brekbellew's 
name  with  a  curse. 

Ned  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"  We  are  so  happy  now,"  she  said,  "  you  and  I,  we  have 
so  much  to  be  grateful  for,  that  we  can  afford  to  forget 
Mrs.  Brekbellew.  We  shall  neither  mention,  nor  think 
of  her  any  more." 

And  then  she  stopped  by  repeated  kisses  the  further 
stigmatizing  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew,  to  which  his  feelings 
with  regard  to  that  lady  fain  w^ould  have  given  vent. 

Anne  McCabe  announced  the  supper,  and  Ned  con 
ducted  her  husband  to  the  homely  little  dining-room  ;  but 
that  evening  it  seemed  the  most  charming  place  in  all  the 
world  to  the  re-united  couple.  Ned  headed  the  table,  and 
served  the  tea  to  Alan  and  Meg  with  the  joyous  vivacity 
of  a  child.  Indeed,  she  could  hardly  be  still,  she  was  so 
happy,  and  though  she  looked  very  sweet,  and  very  lovely 
in  her  simple  dark  dress,  unrelieved  by  anything  save  a 
plain  white  collar  and  bands  to  match  at  her  wrists ;  still, 
for  the  first  time,  as  Alan  sat  opposite  to  her,  he  noticed 
how  slight  she  had  grown ;  how  even  her  face  had  lost 
its  fulness,  though  that  fact  was  now  somewhat  concealed 
by  the  bright,  happy  flush  on  her  cheeks ;  and  he  felt  with 
a  throb  of  pain  that  possibly  the  reconciliation  had  come 
none  too  soon.  A  few  weeks  more  of  what  she  had 
already  endured,  would  have  placed  her  beyond  the  reach 
of  any  earthly  reparation. 

It  was  hardly  to  be.  expected  that  either  could  eat, 
though  both  made  absurd  pretenses  of  doing  so,  and  then 
\vlien  each  discovered  the  other's  clumsy  feint,  there  was 
no  much  ridiculous  protestation,  that  it  set  them  to 
laughing  heartily.  If  Dyke  had  only  been  there  to  enjoy 
it  all — but  Ned  was  consoled  when  Carnew  assured  her 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  359 

that  lie  intended  to  make  D  lit  ton  often  join  them  in  the 
future. 

Anne  McCabe  was  in  some  concern  about  sleeping  ac 
commodations  for  the  handsome  gentleman ;  the  rooms 
were  all  so  small  and  plain — but  Ned  assured  her  with 
the  brightest  smile  that  her  husband  could  accommodate 
himself  to  any  circumstances,  and  Alan  surveyed  with 
actual  pleasure  Dyke's  room — the  apartment  assigned  to 
him — when  he  entered  it. 

"  Its  difference  from  what  you  have  been  accustomed 
to,  will  make  it  a  delightful  novelty,  won't  it,  dear  ? "  said 


Ned  laughingly,  as  she  insisted  upon  making  him  closely 
quainted  with  every  object  in  the  room. 
"  If  it  were  far  less,  to  know  that  it  was  under  the  roof 


with  you,  would  impart  to  it  the  sweetest  of  all  charms, 
he  said  gallantly,  and  then  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  and 
insisted  on  drawing  his  wife  down  to  his  knee. 

"  I  must  talk  to  you  Ned  ;  I  must  hear  you  talk  to  me. 
My  heart  is  so  full,  it  seems  as  if  nothing  else  will 
satisfy  it." 

And  so  it  happened  that  everything  came  to  be  dis 
cussed  once  more,  and  even  more  fully.  The  conversation 
took  such  a  tarn,  that  Alan  found  himself  again  excusing 
his  conduct,  by  laying  before  his  wife  every  link  of  what 
had  seemed  to  be  such  dreadful  evidence  against  her. 
Her  unaccountable  absence  from  Rahandabed,  her  sick 
appearance  when  she  returned,  all  of  which  had  given 
such  color  to  the  charges  against  her.  And  Ned,  as  she 
listened  to  him,  could  hardly  blame  him  for  entertaining 
conviction  in  the  face  of  so  much  proof  ;  but  then,  she, 
in  her  turn,  told  all  about  that  unfortunate  visit  to  Albany, 
and  how  Meg  had  nursed  her  through  the  fever,  and  how 
afterward  the  people  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her  had 
gone  to  Australia.  Carnew  remembered  then  what  Dyke 
had  said  to  him  relative  to  that  visit,  and  he  understood 
now  Dyke's  silence  when  he  had  asked  for  proof  of  Ned's 
Albany  sojourn,  for  he  saw  Meg's  mental  condition. 

The  better  part  of  the  night  passed  before  either  thought 


360 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


of  slumber,  but  then  everything  had  been  explained,  and 
Carnew  realized  that  never  before  had  he  appreciated,  or 
known,  the  guileless,  truthful,  noble  heart  of  his  wife. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning,  she  would  take  him 
out  to  show  him  everything  about  the  farm,  regretting 
that  the  severity  of  the  season  prevented  her  taking  him 
to  the  old,  loved  wood  of  her  childhood. 

"  But,  next  summer,  Alan,  you  must  see  it." 

"  Yes  ;  next  summer,  JSTed  ;  and  now,  can  you  get  ready 
immediately  to  accompany  me  from  here  ? " 

"  Immediately  ? "  with  surprise,  and  a  little  shade  of 
dismay  in  her  voice,  "  I  was  hoping  you  would  stay  here 
a  week  at  least." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  adding  something  about  delay 
ing  as  long  as  possible  her  meeting  with  any  of  the 
people  at  Italian  dabed,  but  she  checked  herself,  fearing 
that  she  might  give  him  pain. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  stay  a  week,  a  year,  if  you  wished 
it,  Ned,  but  we  both  owe  something  to  Ordotte  for  what 
he  has  done,  and  I  have  promised  to  meet  him  some  time 
to-day." 

"  Ordotte  ! "  she  repeated  ;  "  indeed,  we  do  owe  a  great 
deal  to  him  since  lie  has  been  the  means  of  proving  my 
innocence.  Where  are  you  to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  In  Barrytown  ;  in  Mr.  Edgar's  house." 

"  Mr.  Edgar !  " 

A  new,  strange,  and  half  melancholy  light  came  into 
her  eyes. 

"  I  had  forgotten  about  him,"  she  continued,  "  is  lie  to 
be  told  of  what  his  daughter  has  done  ?  " 

They  had  returned  from  their  survey  of  the  farm,  and 
were  about  entering  the  house,  when  Ned  asked  the  last 
question,  and  Alan  waited  to  answer  it  until  both  were  in 
the  little  sitting-room.  Then  he  turned  to  her : 

"  ]N  ed ;  do  you  suppose  Ordotte  or  myself  could  permit 
Mr.  Edgar  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  his  daughter's  con 
duct,  when  Mr.  Edgar  himself,  having  heard  the  calumny 
against  you,  fully  believed  it '?  Simple  justice  to  you  de- 


A  FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  361 

manded  that  he  should  be  told.      By  this  time,  no  doubt, 
lie  is  in  possession  of  the  whole  story." 

She  colored  a  little,  and  the  melancholy  light  in  her 
eyes  increased. 

"  "  How  must  Mr.  Edgar  feel,"  she  said  softly,  "  if  he 
lias  learned  it  all.  He  loved  his  daughter  so  well;  he 
was  so  proud  of  her  !  " 

"How  did  you  feel,  my  darling,  when  your  whole 
happiness  was  dashed  by  the  very  acts  of  this  daughter  he 
loved  so  well  ?  It  is  but  a  just  retribution  perhaps,  for 
the  unmerited  coldness  with  which  he  has  always  treated 
you." 

She  did  not  reply  to  his  speech,  only  after  a  moment's 
silence  she  asked  again  : 

"  Am  7  to  meet  Mr.  Edgar  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  in  company  with  me.  Do  you  shrink  from  the 
meeting  ? " 

"  A  little  ;  I  fancy  that  even  the  knowledge  of  my 
innocence  may  scarcely  change  his  wonted  distant  manner 
to  me,  since  my  guiltlessness  has  only  been  proved  at  the 
expense  of  his  daughter's  character." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  ;  "  answered  Alan,  kissing  her ;  and 
then  he  left  her,  to  give  an  order  to  the  hired  man  to  be 
ready  to  take  them  to  Saugerties,  in  time  for  the  next 
down  train. 

LVIII. 

It  was  Ordotte  who  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnew  on  their 
arrival  in  AVeewald  Place,  and  after  he  had  shaken  hands 
with  the  lady,  and  bowed  in  grateful  pleasure  to  her  mur 
mured  thanks  for  what  he  had  done,  he  begged  to  be  ex 
cused  while  he  drew  Alan  aside  ;  there  was  a  brief 
conversation  between  them  in  a  very  low  voice,  and  then 
both  rejoined  Mrs.  Carnew.  Immediately  after  that  Ed 
gar  entered  the  room.  Neither  Alan  nor  J^ed  were  pre 
pared  for  the  change  in  him  ;  he  seemed  such  an  utterly 
broken  old  man.  His  hair  and  beard  were  quite  white, 


362  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

while  liis  eyes,  that  had  been  so  keen  and  large,  seemed 
now  to  have  shrunken  in  size,  and  to  have  lost  their 
lustre.  He  was  strangely  stooped,  and  even  his  gait  had 
a  sort  of  totter ;  while  his  manner,  that  manner  which 
had  been  so  stern  and  so  repellant,  was  strangely,  almost 
touchingly  gentle  and  submissive. 

He  came  forward  like  one  about  to  plead  for  some 
favor,  and  as  Ned  watched  him,  both  shocked  and  touched 
as  she  was,  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  It  was  to  her  he 
came  first,  addressing  her  in  a  voice  that  was  in  full  keep 
ing  with  his  appearance,  cracked,  and  even  husky. 

"  Mrs.  Carnew,"  he  said,  "  I  am  such  an  old,  blighted 
man  now,  that  perhaps  you  will  waive  the  apologies  I 
ought  to  make  for  my  treatment  of  you  in  the  past,  for 
what  I  ought  to  say  since  you  have  been  so  wronged  by 
one  of  mine." 

Ned  could  control  herself  no  longer.  Over  the  hand 
he  had  extended,  and  which  she  had  warmly  grasped,  she 
bent  her  head  and  let  her  tears  fall  as  they  would. 

"  You  weep  ?  "  he  said  in  some  surprise. 

"  For  you,"  she  answered,  looking  up  ;  "I  am  so  sorry 
for  you." 

He  turned  from  her  to  the  two  silent  and  sympa 
thizing  gentlemen,  asking  in  the  same  cracked,  husky 
voice : 

"  Has  anybody  told  her  ?    Does  she  know  ?  " 

Both  gentlemen  simultaneously  shook  their  heads, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  satisfied.  Withdrawing  his  hand 
from  Mrs.  Carnew,  he  crossed  to  Alan. 

"  Once  before  I  bade  you  welcome  here,  when  I  did 
not  dream  of  such  a  cloud  as  this,  and  thought  perhaps 
to  cement  my  own  happiness  before  your  visit  should 
end  ;  now  you  are  also  welcome.  You  will  remain  for  a 
few  days,  will  you  not  ?  All  of  you  ? " 

He  turned  to  each  successively,  and  Ordotte,  with  a 
look  at  Alan,  meant  to  convey  to  that  gentleman  that  it 
was  better  to  consent,  undertook  to  answer  in  the  affir 
mative  for  the  party. 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  363 

Upon  which  Edgar  rang  for  servants  to  conduct  them 
to  their  rooms. 

It  required  all  Alan's  comforting  powers  to  make  his 
wife  cease  to  grieve  about  Mr.  Edgar. 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  him,"  she  said;  "he  seems  so  ut 
terly  blighted.  If  the  change  had  been  described  to 
me  I  could  not  have  believed  it.  If  Edna  were  to  see 
him  now  it  would  surely  break  her  heart." 

,It  was  the  first  time  she  had  mentioned  Mrs.  Brekbel- 
lew's  name  since  the  subject  of  that  lady  had  been  closed 
between  herself  and  Alan,  and  he  could  not  refrain  from 
saying : 

"  I  doubt  if  anything  this  side  of  the  infernal  regions 
could  break  her  heart." 

Poor  old  Edgar,  as  we  also  are  impelled  to  call  him, 
since  he  has  all  the  marks  of  age,  met  his  guests  at  the 
dinner-table  ;  it  was  painful  to  watch  his  struggle  to  re 
tain  his  old  wonted  dignity  ;  and  the  very  evidence  that 
he  gave  of  his  own  consciousness  that  his  old  power  was 
gone,  made  the  exhibition  still  more  painful. 

Carnew  and  Ordotte,  for  sake  of  the  pale,  troubled 
lady  who  sat  opposite  the  host,  endeavored  to  lighten  the 
gloom  of  the  meal  by  cheerful  conversation ;  but  the 
weight  still  remained,  and  all  were  glad  when  they  could 
retire. 

Almost  immediately  after,  a  message  was  brought  to 
Alan,  requesting  him  to  meet  Mr.  Edgar  in  that  gentle 
man's  private  study.  He  kissed  his  wife  as  he  left  her 
to  obey  the  summons,  and  he  entreated  her  to  have 
out  of  her  face  on  his  return,  the  troubled  look  that 
made  him  so  anxious.  She  smiled  as  she  promised  to  en 
deavor  to  do  so,  and  in  order  to  keep  her  word,  she  threw 
herself  on  a  couch  that  slumber  might  dissipate  her 
thoughts  of  Mr.  Edgar. 

Edgar  was  seated  when  Carnew  entered  his  presence, 
and  he  motioned  the  young  man  to  a  chair  near  him. 

"  Ordotte  has  told  me  that  he  made  you  acquainted 
with  everything,"  he  said,  in  the  cracked  voice  that 


364  A  FATAL  RESEMBLANCE'. 

seemed  to  have  taken  permanently  the  place  of  his 
own. 

Carnew  bowed  an  affirmative. 

"And  you  are  quite  convinced  of  the  entire  innocence 
of  your  wife  ? " 

He  spoke  with  a  slow,  trembling  voice  that,  in  addi 
tion  to  his  cracked  tones,  made  it  somewhat  painful  to 
listen  to  him. 

"  I  am  quite  convinced,"  was  the  reply.  Edgar  fum 
bled  at  something  in  his  breast-pocket,  and  drew  forth 
Mrs.  Brekbellew's  letter.  He  placed  it  open  before  his 
companion. 

"  That,  Mr.  Carnew,  will  insure  still  further  your  con 
victions.  Read  and  know  how  your  wife  has  been 
wronged." 

Carnew  pushed  it  from  him. 

"  I  do  not  need  to  have  my  conviction  still  further  in 
sured.  I  know  my  wife's  innocence,  and  I  only  regret 
my  stupid  blindness  to  it  before." 

"  But  read  this  letter,  Mr.  Carnew,  in  obedience  to  my 
desire  to  have  you  do  so  ; "  and  Edgar  placed  the  closely- 
written  letter  under  Alan's  eyes. 

Thus  requested,  Alan  read  it,  his  face  flushing  and  his 
lips  setting  themselves  more  firmly  together  in  the  effort 
required  to  suppress  his  indignation,  as  he  learned  the 
long  tissue  of  cruel  deceit  that  had  been  practised  by 
the  writer.  When  he  had  finished  he  made  no  com 
ment,  at  which  Mr.  Edgar  seemed  relieved ;  and  he  has 
tened  to  prevent  any  remark  upon  it,  for  he  said,  as  he 
took  the  letter  and  hurriedly  replaced  it  in  his  breast : 

"  We  will  not  refer  to  that  subject  again,  Mr.  Car- 
new." 

Alan  bowed ;  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  just 
then,  for  if  he  did,  he  must  have  given  vent  to  his  in 
dignation,  and  that  he  would  repress  for  the  sake  of  the 
unhappy  man  beside  him,  whose  stabs  were  deeper  than 
any  that  had  been  inflicted  upon  himself. 

Edgar  spoke  again : 


A  FATAL  K::SEMBLANCE.  365 

"  It  was  my  wish  that  Mrs.  Carnew  should  not  be  told 
for  a  little  of  her  relationship  to  me." 

Alan  having  mastered  his  indignant  feelings,  replied  : 

"  Yes ;  so  I  was  apprised  by  Ordotte  immediately  on 
my  arrival  here." 

"  And  would  you  mind,  would  you  object,"  speaking 
like  one  about  to  prefer  some  pitiful  petition,  "if  I 
asked  you  to  let  her  ignorance  continue  ? "  In  his  touch 
ing  earnestness,  he  leaned  forward  and  placed  his  trem 
bling  hand  on  Carnew's  arm 

"if  this  test  of  which  Ordotte  speaks  were  to  be  ap 
plied  to  her,  it  might  fail  as  it  did —  '  he  hesitated  be 
cause  he  would  not  mention  Mrs.  Brekbellew's  name — 
"  on  its  former  application,  and  then  I  should  be  in  the 
s:ime  dreadful  doubt,  for  Ordotte  is  not  sure  that  the  es 
sence  is  the  same  that  my  brother  used.  But —  "  he 
leaned  forward  a  little  more,  and  placed  his  other  trembling 
hand  on  his  listener's  knee,  "  make  your  home  with  me, 
Alan,  you  and  your  wife,  and  give  me  an  opportunity 
of  atoning  to  her  for  my  conduct  of  the  past." 

His  whole  blighted  soul  seemed  to  be  in  his  eyes  as  he 
raised  them  to  Carnew's  face,  and  he  waited  for  the  an 
swer  with  the  appearance  of  one  expecting  a  life  and 
death  decision. 

Alan  was  a  little  startled  at  the  proposition,  not  that 
so  far  as  concerned  a  residence  in  quiet  and  elegant 
Weewald  Place,  he  would  not  have  been  better  satis 
fied  than  in  noisy  and  somewhat  vulgar  Rahandabed,  but 
he  was  astonished  that  Mr.  Edgar  should  manifest  such 
a  desire,  and  especially  immediately  after  he  had  dis 
claimed  against  telling  Ned  of  her  relationship.  Like 
his  wife,  however,  he  could  not  help  being  touched  by 
the  blight  that  had  come  to  the  poor  gentleman,  and  also 
like  her,  he  wished  to  give  him  some  comfort.  He  an 
swered  kindly : 

"  I  must  consult  Mrs.  Carnew  before  I  reply  to  your 
request,  and  if  she  should  consent,  it  must  not  be  as  the 


366  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

recipient  of  any  of  your  bounty.  As  in  Rahandabed, 
her  husband's  means  shall  and  must  provide  for  her." 

c>As  you  will,"  responded  the  cracked  voice,  "  only 
consent  to  what  I  ask  ;  and  go  now,  and  see  Mrs.  Carnew, 
so  that  my  suspense  may  be  ended." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  closed  his  eyes  to  wait 
while  Alan  should  be  absent. 

Ned  wTas  awakened  from  the  slumber  she  had  courted, 
to  hear  the  errand  upon  which  her  husband  had  returned 
to  her.  Her  wide  eyes  were  alight  with  pleasure  in  a 
moment. 

"  To  live  here !  O  Alan !  I  should  be  delighted  ;  and 
now  that  poor  Mr.  Edgar  is  so  changed,  and  so  lonely,  it 
will  be  one  of  our  sweetest  tasks  to  keep  him  company, 
and  to  cheer  him  as  much  as  we  might.  Besides,"  throw 
ing  her  arms  in  coaxing  entreaty  round  her  husband's 
neck,  "  life  here  will  be  so  much  more  pleasant  than  in 
Rahaiidabed;  it  will  be  quiet,  and  gentle,  and  genial, 
and  there  it  would  be—  '  she  stopped  suddenly,  re 
membering  that  her  remark  would  possibly  reflect  pain 
fully  upon  his  aunt,  but  he  playfully  took  up  the  sentence. 

"  And  there  it  would  be  noisy,  and  vulgar,  and  uncon 
genial." 

She  blushed,  and  tried  to  hide  her  face  by  burying  it 
on  his  shoulder,  but  he  gently  forced  her  head  up,  and 
compelled  her  to  meet  his  eyes,  all  blushing  as  she  was. 

"  I  know  it  all,  Ned,"  he  said,  an  accent  of  deep  earnest 
ness  underlying  the  outward  playful  seeming  of  his  voice, 
"  and  my  feelings  have  warred  against  it  as  much  as  your 
own ;  but  I  intended  it  this  time  to  be  of  short  duration 
for  both  of  us.  In  a  couple  of  months  at  most  we  should 
have  embarked  for  Europe." 

"  I  would  rather  remain  here,"  she  replied ;  "  and  if  you 
will  only  consent  to  do  so,  Alan,  I  shall  be  very  happy. 
You  see,  it  will  avert  that  which  I  have  been  most  dread 
ing,  a  return  to  Rahandabed.  I  cannot  meet  Mrs.  Dolo- 
ran — I  cannot  meet  any  of  those  people." 

"  But  you  must  return  with  me  for  a  short  time,  that 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  367 

amends  may  be  made  for  that  horrible  calumny ;  that 
these  very  people  in  Rahandabed  may  know  how  grossly 
you  have  been  wronged,"  he  urged  with  some  impatience. 

She  pleaded  all  the  more. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  do  so,  Alan.  Surely,  whatever 
amends  may  be  required  can  be  made  without  my  pres 
ence,"  and,  at  length,  she  won  her  way. 

He  left  her  to  take  her  answer  to  Edgar,  who  received 
it  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  such  expressions  of  grateful 
satisfaction  as  made  even  Alan  glad  that  he  had  granted 
the  request. 

When  Ordotte  was  made  acquainted  with  it  he  ap 
proved  most  heartily,  indorsing  everything  that  Mrs. 
Carnew  had  urged,  and  adding  that  there  would  be  little 
difficulty  in  setting  Mrs.  Doloran's  mind  right  on  every 
thing  pertaining  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  when  it  was  strength 
ened  by  the  presence  of  Mr.  Carnew  and  himself.  "  That 
is,  my  dear  fellow,  if  you  are  willing  to  trust  to  my  mode 
of  execution,  this  delicate  and  interesting  mission." 

"  Willing  to  trust  you,"  said  Carnew,  grasping  Ordotte's 
hand.  "  After  all  that  you  have  done  for  us ;  owing,  as 
I  do,  my  present  intense  happiness  to  you • " 

"  Stop,  stop  ;  my  dear  fellow !  "  interrupted  Ordotte, 
laughingly.  "  You  forget  the  intense  happiness  I  have 
given  myself  in  all  this,  not  the  least  of  which  has  been 
your  friendship  for  which  I  always  longed,  but  could 
never  succeed  before  in  winning." 
'  And  he  wrung  heartily  the  hand  in  his  grasp. 

Thus  it  was  arranged  that  the  two  gentlemen  should 
repair  to  Kahandabed,  where  Alan  would  make  only  the 
briefest  possible  stay,  after  which  he  would  return  to  make 
his  home  in  Weewald  Place. 

Before  they  went,  Edgar  visited  old  Mackay ;  it  was  a 
rare  thing  for  him  to  call  upon  the  old  man  in  his  little, 
lonely  home,  and  the  latter,  though  surmising  the  busi 
ness  upon  which  the  gentleman  had  come,  felt  honored  by 
the  condescension,  and  he  tried  in  his  simple  way  to  ex 
press  his  appreciation  of  it.  But  Edgar  stopped  him. 


368  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

The  soreness  of  his  own  heart  had  strangely  levelled  all 
social  distinctions. 

"  I  have  come  about  that  of  which  you  spoke  to  me  the 
other  evening,"  he  said  quietly ;  almost  witli  the  air  of 
one  talking  of  business  foreign  to  his  own  thoughts,  but 
that  his  melancholy  appearance  denied  the  seeming  sug 
gestion. 

"  I  have  commissioned  some  one  who  is  going  to  C 

to  have  your  grandchild  sent  to  you  ;  do  you  understand  ? 
It  shall  be  sent  to  you ;  a  nurse  shall  be  found  for  it,  and 
she  will  come  with  it,  and  she  will  hVe  with  you,  and  take 
care  of  it ;  and  I  shall  defray  the  expense  that  may  be 
incurred." 

Old  Mackay's  lip  began  to  tremble  from  emotion,  and 
he  was  about  to  speak,  to  pour  forth  his  thanks,  but  Edgar 
continued : 

"  I  have  more  to  say ;  there  is  an  error  to  be  rectified — 
an  error  under  which  you  and  I  and  many  others  have 
labored."  He  stopped  short,  and  looked  away  from  the 
eager  old  face  before  him  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  recover 
from  some  sudden  emotion,  or,  it  might  be,  to  reflect  upon 
the  words  he  would  use  ;  when  he  turned  back,  he  resumed 
in  the  quiet  way  that  had  marked  his  communication  from 
the  beginning : 

"  The  mother  of  your  son's  child  is  not  the  young  lady 
who  has  been  accused  of  being  such,  bat  another  person." 

"  Another  person,"  repeated  the  old  gardener  in  a  dazed 
way. 

"Yes;  another  person,"  resumed  Edgar,  speaking  as 
firmly  and  decisively  as  his  cracked  voice  would  allow  him 
to  do.  "  All  the  proofs  of  the  innocence  of  her  who  was 
charged  with  being  the  mother  of  your  son's  child  are  in 
my  possession,  and  she,  with  her  husband,  will  henceforth 
make  her  home  with  me.  So,  from  now,  Mackay,  you 
will  remember  not  to  link  her  with  your  grandchild,  and 
you  will  correct,  whenever  you  have  an  opportunity  of 
doing  so,  the  wrong  impressions  of  others.  That  other 
person,  she  who  is  the  mother  of  your  son's  child,  will 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  369 

never  trouble  you  in  the  possession  of  it,  and  I  shall  pro 
vide  always  for  its  care.  In  consideration  of  that,  Mackay, 
you  will  not  ask  any  question  about  the  mother  of  the 
child." 

And  old  Mackay,  absorbed  more  in  the  thought  of  get 
ting  possession  of  his  grandchild  than  in  any  speculation 
about  its  mother,  gave  a  quivering  assent. 


LIX. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Hayman.  was  surprised,  and  even 
thrown  into  a  little  consternation  on  the  reception  of  the 
cards  of  two  gentlemen  who  waited  to  see  him  in  his 
pretty,  cozy  parlor, "  Alan  Carnew "  and  "  Mascar  Or- 
dotte."  The  owner  of  the  former  name  he. well  remem 
bered,  since  his  own  never-to-be-forgotten  visit  to  Rahan- 
dabed,  where  he  was  confronted  with  such  a  strange 
scene  ;  but  the  latter  name  was  quite  unfamiliar.  How 
ever,  he  repaired  immediately  to  the  presence  of  his 
visitors,  and  was  introduced  by  Alan  to  Ordotte,  who,  at 
once,  in  his  own  peculiar,  original  way  told  the  object  of 
their  visit. 

"  Strange  circumstances,  Mr.  Hayman,"  he  said,  "  have 
made  us  think  that  even  you,  careful  and  accurate 
as  your  ecclesiastical  profession  enjoins  you  to  be,  may 
have  been  mistaken  in  the  identity  of  the  lady  whom,  a 
few  months  ago,  you  were  summoned  to  C-  -  to  recog 
nize  as  the  person  you  had  privately  married  to  a  Rich 
ard  Mackay  some  time  before.  As  you  recall  all  the 
circumstances  now,  the  mere  glimpse  of  her  face  which 
you  obtained,  as  she  forgetfully  lifted  her  veil,  the  possi 
bly  not  over-bright  light  by  which  you  saw  her  features, 
might  you  not  have  been  mistaken  in  supposing  her  to  be 
the  lady  whom  you  saw  in  C-  — ,  especially  if  she  re 
sembled  closely  in  figure  and  height,  and  even  somewhat 
in  countenance,  another  lady  of  her  own  age  ?  Take 
time  to  reflect,  dear,  reverend  sir,  and  then  answer  us  as 


370  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

you  would  do  if  at  the  last  moment  of  your  life  you  were 
asked  to  give  an  account  of  this." 

The  reverend  gentleman  was  exceedingly  conscientious, 
and  being  thus  gravely  adjured,  he  did  call  to  mind,  as 
closely  as  he  could  remember,  every  circumstance  of  that 
private  marriage,  and  he  did  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  could,  very  possibly,  and  very  probably,  too,  have  been 
mistaken  in  his  recognition  of  the  lady  in  C ,  espe 
cially  if  there  were  another  lady  who  closely  resembled  her. 

And  he  thus  expressed  himself  at  the  close  of  his  re 
flections. 

"  Then,  dear,  reverend  sir,"  exclaimed  Ordotte,  jump 
ing  up,  and  seizing  the  reverend's  hand,  "  we  congratu 
late  you  on  your  discovery,  and  you  may  congratulate  us 
upon  ours.  We  have  discovered  that  the  lady  whom  you 

met  in  C ,  Mrs.  Carnew,  is  entirely  innocent,  having 

been  the  victim  of  some  one  who  resembled  her,  and  who 
artfully  used  her  name.  But,  '  all's  well  that  ends  well,' 
and  she  and  her  husband  here  are  having  a  second  honey 
moon,"  upon  which  Mr.  Hay  man  bowed,  and  shook  Alan's 
hand  in  congratulation. 

When  they  had  left  the  little  parsonage,  and  were  once 
more  on  their  interrupted  journey  to  Kahandabed,  Car- 
new  said,  a  little  impatiently,  to  his  companion : 

"  What  was  the  need  of  that  visit,  Mascar  ?  In  Hea 
ven's  name  did  you  suppose  I  wanted  any  more  proof  of 
my  wife's  innocence  \ " 

"No,  Alan,  no;  I  would  not  wrong  you  by  such  a 
thought.  I  did  it  for  our  mutual  satisfaction,  and  to  dis 
abuse  the  minister  of  his  error.  Every  one  who  has  be 
lieved  that  horrible  calumny  ought  to  be  told  the  truth." 

"  You  are  right,  Mascar ;  and  how  shall  I  thank  you 
for  your  forethought  about  it  all,"  answered  Alan,  his 
impatience  quite  gone. 

"  As  I  have  told  you  before,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  so 
well  rewarded  that  I  do  not  need  your  thanks.  And 
now" — with  a  quiet  humorous  chuckle — "just  bend  your 
mind  to  the  task  of  devising  some  means  for  me  to  escape 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  371 

the  scolding  of  your  aunt  for  not  having  written  a  line 
to  her  since  the  letter  that  announced  my  departure  from 
Europe." 

u  You  do  not  need  my  help,"  replied  Carnew,  laugh 
ing  ;  "  you  are  such  a  favorite  in  Rahandabed  that  my 
aunt  will  easily  forgive  you.  Hint  to  her  that  you  have 
acquired  a  new  stock  of  Indian  stories,  and  she  will  hasten 
to  be  reconciled." 

"  By  George  !  I  have  it,"  burst  out  Ordotte  with  as 
sumed  rapture.  "  When  we  arrive  in  Rahandabed,  you 
go  immediately  to  your  own  apartments  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  allow  me  to  manage  everything." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Alan,  laughing  heartily,  for  he  could 
imagine  the  extravagant  proceedings  of  his  aunt. 

All  Rahandabed  had  been  in  a  state  of  flurry  since  the 
arrival  of  the  letter  of  which  Ordotte  had  spoken,  and 
when  more  than  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  for  the 
traveller  not  only  to  have  reached  New  York,  but  to  have 
been  safely  housed  in  Mrs.  Doloran's  hospitable  mansion, 
her  anger  and  disappointment  knew  no  bounds.  She 
raved  at  everybody,  and  even  sought  her  nephew  to  com 
pel  him  to  share  her  violent  discontent.  But  he  had 
taken  his  departure,  no  one  knew  where,  and,  as  usual, 
Macgilivray,  who  could  have  told  at  least  that  he  had 
driven  him  to  the  station  to  take  a  down  train,  amusingly 
evaded  giving  any  information ;  he  could  do  so  with  the 
greater  impunity  as  he  knew  that  Mrs.  Doloran  was  pow 
erless  to  disturb  his  place  with  his  master.  And  \vhen 
her  violence  reached  such  a  pitch  that  no  pastime  was 
free  from  the  disagreeable  ebullition  of  her  temper,  both 
guests  and  servants  ardently  wished  for  the  advent  of 
some  one  who  could  restore  peace  to  the  house. 

Every  day,  at  the  arrival  of  every  train  from  New 
York,  by  her  order  a  carriage  was  in  waiting  for  Ordotte, 
and  Jim  Slade,  who  had  been  promoted  to  Macgilivray's 
place  on  the  departure  of  the  latter  to  Carnew's  especial 
service,  devoutly  prayed  each  time  that  he  would  not  be 
disappointed. 


372  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

u  por?"  as  he  expressed  it  to  his  fellow-servants,  "  sure 
she  sends  for  me,  and  badgers  me  as  if  I  had  the  divilish 
little  foreigner  in  one  of  me  pockets  ;  and  only  that  I 
learned  to  dodge  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  wouldn't  have  a 
whole  skull  on  me  to-day." 

Macgilivray  met  the  trains  also,  not  knowing  when  his 
master  would  return,  but  feeling  that  he  ought  to  be  on 
hand.  Thus  both  gentlemen  found  conveyances  for 

them  when   they  did   at   length  arrive   in   C ,  and 

while,  when  they  reached  Rahandabed,  Alan  went  quickly 
and  quietly  to  his  own  apartments,  Ordotte  was  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Doloran.  But  that  lady  con 
sidered  herself  intensely  aggrieved,  and  for  once  she  was 
going  to  show  even  Mascar  Ordotte  her  offended  dignity. 
She  received  him  in  her  most  pompous  state,  her  tall, 
erect  figure  held  with  a  ramrod-like  stiffness,  and  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face,  surmounted  by  its  grotesque  head 
dress,  combining  the  utmost  severity  and  anger.  But 
Ordotte  was  not  dismayed.  He  had  rehearsed  his  part 
to  himself,  and  he  lacked  neither  the  desire  nor  the  skill 
to  play  it. 

With  an  exact  imitation  of  the  lower  classes  of  the 
East,  he  acknowledged  her  august  presence;  then  he 
waved  his  hand  in  a  mysterious  and  pathetic  way  to  the 
company  about  her,  -after  which  he  dropped  on  one  knee 
before  her,  raising  his  hands  and  clasping  them  in  suppli 
cation,  and  at  last  he  stood  up,  folded  his  arms,  shook  his 
head  in  a  very  sad  manner,  and  then  let  it  drop  forward 
upon  his  breast  in  an  attitude  of  unutterable  dejection. 
As  he  had  shrewdly  supposed,  Mrs.  Doloran's  curiosity 
was  so  excited  that  her  anger  and  dignity  were  forgotten ; 
she  fairly  rushed  to  him,  seized  one  of  his  folded  arms 
with  both  of  her  heavily  jeweled  hands. 

"  What  is  it,  Mascar  ?     What  lias  happened  ? " 

In  obedience  to  the  rest  of  his  role,  he  slowly  unfolded 

his  arms,  and  lifted  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  to 

his  lips,  where  he  pressed  it  very  firmly  ;  then  he  pointed 

to  an  inner  apartment,  and  motioned  that  she  should  ac- 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  373 

company  him  there.     She  took  his  arm  at  once,  saying  in 
her  loud,  impetuous  manner  : 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  my  dear  Mascar — 
some  secret."  And  bowing  distantly  to  her  surprise! 
and  amused  companions,  she  repaired  with  him  to  the 
room  to  which  lie  had  motioned. 

"Now  tell  me,"  she  said,  hardly  waiting  to  be  well 
within  the  room.  But  Ordette  provokingly  delayed  his 
communication.  'Not  content  with  pretending  to  assure 
himself  that  the  door  was  quite  closed,  he  went  about, 
knocking  on  the  walls  and  peering  into  the  corners,  until 
his  companion,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  intense  curiosity 
and  impatience,  began  to  wonder  if  he  had  not  become  a 
little  insane.  He  desisted  at  length,  and  approaching  her, 
said  in  a  very  solemn  voice : 

"  I  am  now  about  to  reveal  to  you  the  sequel  of  all  my 
Indian  stories.  I  have  solved  a  great  mystlery,  and  I 
shall  tell  you  a  wonderful  tale." 

She  was  so  impressed  by  his  manner,  his  voice,  and  his 
words,  that  she  was  powerless  even  to  make  a  reply ;  she 
could  only  stand  and  stare  at  him  as  if  she  had  partly 
lost  her  own  reason.  He  pulled  her  down  into  a  chair, 
and  seating  himself  beside  her,  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
most  mysterious  whisper.  When  he  finished  his  long 
story,  to  which  she  had  listened  with  the  same  dumb 
amazement  that  had  characterized  her  at  its  beginning, 
her  comprehension  of  it  all  was  as  mysterious  as  had 
been  the  manner  of  the  reciter  of  the  tale.  Somehow, 
she  had  caught  the  story  in  this  wise,  that  Ned  Edgar, 
Mrs.  Carnew,  was  a  very  wonderful  being ;  so  wonderful, 
that  the  wise,  fortune-telling  people  of  India,  had  cast 
her  horoscope,  and  discovered  that  she  had  been  dread 
fully  wronged,  and  they  had  put  Ordotte,  who  wa3 
one  of  their  favorites  in  the  way  of  finding  out  how  she 
was  wronged,  and  they  had  commanded  him  to  see  that 
full  reparation  was  made  to  her,  threatening,  that  upon 
whoever  refused  to  make  this  reparation  they  would  work 
their  charms,  so  that  the  most  dreadful  punishment  should 


374  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

ensue,  that  Ordotte,  owing  to  their  help,  had  discovered 
ib  was  Mrs.  Brekbellew  who  was  guilty  of  everything  of 
which  Mrs.  Carnew  had  been  accused. 

These  were  the  facts  that  Mrs.  Doloran  had  gained,  and 
she  was  so  imbued  with  fear  of  the  awful  people  in  India, 
that  she  became  instantly  amenable  to  Ordotte's  directions. 
Indeed,  she  begged  him  to  tell  her  what  she  should  do, 
promising  the  most  abject  and  implicit  obedience. 

His  advice,  so  earnestly  solicited,  enjoined  first,  a  gen 
tle  and  kindly  interview  with  her  nephew,  then  an  assem 
bly  of  everybody  in  Itahandabed,  even  to  the  servants, 
when  Ordotte  would  tell  the  story  of  Mrs.  Carnew's  inno 
cence,  and  proclaim  the  guilty  party,  and  thirdly  a  most 
contrite  and  affectionate  letter  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  all  of 
which  directions  Mrs.  Doloran  so  faithfully  observed 
that  the  same  day  saw  the  fulfilmerit  of  the  three. 

Thus  Rahandabed  was  again  the  scene  of  exciting  gossip 
in  reference  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  and  Macgilivray  in  his  de 
light  lost  so  much  of  his  Scotch  gravity,  that  he  became 
an  object  of  amusing  wonder  to  his  fellow-help.  And  he 
became  also  somewhat  of  an  object  of  envy  when  Mrs. 
Doloran,  in  obedience  to  Ordotte,  having  discovered  what 
disposition  had  bean  made  of  Mrs.  Brekbellew's  deserted 
offspring,  sent  for  Macgil'ivray  to  receive  both  from 
Ordotte  and  Mrs.  Doloran  a  substantial  reward  for  his 
kindness,  and  to  be  further  commissioned  to  find  if  possi 
ble,  among  his  kin  in  the  village  a  wToman  who  would  be 
willing  to  go  with  the -child  to  Barrytown,  and  take  per 
manent  charge  of  it  there.  It  is  almost  needless  to  say 
that  Macgilivray  succeeded  in  executing  his  commission, 
and  word  having  been  sent  to  that  effect  to  Mr.  Edgar, 
that  gentleman  sent  his  own  carriage  to  meet  the  woman 
upon  her  arrival  at  the  station,  and  she  and  her  charge 
were  driven  to  the  small  and  plain,  but  comfortable  home 
of  poor  old  Mackay.  We  draw  the  veil  upon  the  emotion 
with  wThich  he  received  his  grandchild.  He  forgot  every 
thing,  but  that  he  saw  the  eyes  of  his  unfortunate  son  in 
the  eyes  of  his  little  one,  and  that  it  was  Dick's  own  ex- 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  375 

pression  which  played  about  the  mouth  of  the  laughing 
babe. 

LX. 

Mrs.  Doloran  had  never  been  so  amiable,  surprising  even 
those  who  knew  to  what  to  attribute  its  cause ;  whether 
it  was  that  Ordotte  during  his  absence  had  acquired  new 
powers  of  interest,  or  that  her  friendship  for  him  had 
been  increased  by  their  separation,  even  that  gentleman 
with  all  his  fully  credited  penetration  of  character  was 
unable  to  tell.  But,  nevertheless,  it  delighted  him  to 
bask  in  it  all  himself,  and  to  know  at  the  same  time  that 
it  was  adding  to  the  general  happiness  of  the  house. 
First,  however,  when  the  lady's  manner  to  him  assumed 
a  greater  sweetness  than  it  had  ever  evinced  before,  and 
an  intimacy  strongly  suggestive  of  affection,  he  said  to 
Alan : 

"  Will  you  object,  my  dear  fellow,  if  my  attentions  to 
your  aunt  should  become  very  tender?  If,  in  fact,  should 
she  reciprocate  them,  I  should  ask  her  to  become  Mrs. 
Ordotte  'I " 

Alan  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  the  expression  of 
the  tawny  face ;  it  was  so  unusually  serious,  and  even 
perplexed,  and  he  asked,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  his 
voice : 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mascar?" 

"  Never  more  so ;  you  see,  Mrs.  Doloran's  friendship 
for  me  quite  touches  me,  it  is  so  disinterested,  and  she 
yields  even  her  dearest  whims  to  my  wishes." 

"  Well,  Mascar,  if  you  really  can  esteem  my  poor,  fool 
ish  aunt  sufficiently  to  make  her  your  wife,  and  she  is 
willing  to  renounce  her  widowhood,  I  do  not  know  of  a 
greater  service  you  could  render  to  us  all.  Your  very 
presence  here,  marvellously  subdues  her  temper,  and  she 
willingly  yields  a  deference  to  you  which  she  would  do 
to  no  one  else." 

"  Then  you  are  willing  to  accept  me  for  an  uncle,  if  I 
can  win  Mrs.  Doloran  to  bestow  her  hand  upon  me." 


376  A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

""With  all  my  heart,  my  dear  fellow.  I  wish  even 
that  it  could  take  place  very  speedily,  for  then  I  could  re 
nounce  all  anxiety  about  my  aunt,  and  not  feel  as  if  I 
were  neglecting  something  every  time  that  I  leave  Ra- 
handabed." 

"I- don't  know,"  replied  Ordotte  dubiously  shaking  his 
head,  "  perhaps  if  I  were  to  attempt  to  precipitate  mat 
ters,  I  might  spoil  everything.  But  when  shall  you  re 
turn  to  Weewald  Place  ? " 

"  I  would  go  immediately  this  very  day,  for  everything 
that  I  wished  to  attend  to  here  is  settled  now,  but  that  I 
feel  I  must  remain  to  receive  young  Brekbellew  and  Mr. 
Me  Arthur,  of  whom  I  told  you.  I  invited  them  here, 
and  this  morning  I  received  a  note,  saying  they  would 
arrive  before  the  end  of  the  week.  Ned  writes  that  she 
is  intensely  happy,  having  just  the  life  of  quiet  which 
she  always  enjoys,  and  that,  though  she  does  not  see  much- 
of  Mr.  Edgar,  she  still  contrives  opportunities  of  minis 
tering  to  him  a  little,  which  add  to  her  own  delight ;  also, 
while  she  is  longing  to  have  me  with  her  again,  still,  as 
she  hears  from  me  frequently  and  knows  that  I  am  well, 
she  is  quite  willing  to  resign  my  return  to  my  own  con 
venience.  So,  in  that  case,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  remain, 
but  every  day  that  I  am  away  from  her  seems  like  a 
year." 

His  patience  was  not  put  to  the  test  he  anticipated,  for 
the  close  of  the  week  brought  not  his  two  friends,  but  a 
letter  of  apology  and  regret ;  young  Brekbellew  had  been 
imperatively  summoned  to  London  by  his  uncle,  and  the 
tone  of  the  summons  convinced  both  himself  and  his 
friend,  Me  Arthur,  that  it  would  be  most  unwise  to  disre 
gard  it.  He  would  sail  for  England  the  very  day  on 
which  he  wrrote,  and  McArtlmr  would  accompany  him ; 
but,  on  their  return  both  would  fulfil  their  promise  with 
pbasure. 

Alan  was  delighted  to  be  free  to  return  to  Ned,  and 
when  L is  aunt  parted  with  him,  it  was  with  the  strictest 
injunction  upon  her  part  to  come  back  with,  his  wife  as 


A  FATAL   KESEMBLANCE.  377 

as  soon  as  possible,  at  least  for  a  brief  visit,  to  which 
command  Alan  promised  obedience. 

Jim  Slade  drove  him  to  the  station,  and  Macgilivray 
sat  upon  the  box  beside  Jim  ;  for  the  Scotchman  was  not 
only  going  to  the  station  with  his  master,  but  was  going 
to  accompany  him  to  Weewald  Place,  where  Alan  had 
promised  him  lie  should  still  be  Mrs.  Camew's  coachman. 
And  Donald  had  a  light  heart  in  his  bosom,  and  a  very 
cheerful  glow  all  over  his  honest  Scotch  countenance,  for 
he  could  have  served  Mrs.  Carnew  in  the  love  of  his 
heart,  and  without  a  penny  of  hire. 

Mrs.  Carnew  was  intensely  happy ;  the  great,  quiet 
house  just  suited  her,  and  to  know  that  it  must  occa 
sionally  be  in  her  power  to  minister  even  in  little  ways 
to  the  poor,  changed,  lonely  master  of  the  house,  was  a 
comfort  to  her.  He  seemed  determined,  however,  not  to 
give  her  much  opportunity,  for,  after  the  first  day  of 
her  husband's  absence,  in  which  he  requested  her  to  avail 
herself  of  the  music-room  as  long  and  as  often  as  she 
choose  to  do  so,  he  seemed  to  keep  studiously  out  of  her 
sight,  save  at  meal  times.  Then,  however,  she  was  so 
quietly  and  tenderly  attentive  to  him,  that  it  touched 
him  in  spite  of  himself,  and  more  than  once  she  found 
his  eyes  fixed  with  a  mysterious  earnestness  upon  her 
face.  She  wondered  a  little  at  it,  and  could  she  have 
seen  him  immediately  after  such  times  repair  to  the 
chamber  that  contained  his  wife's  portrait,  and  there, 
seating  himself  before  it,  view  the  pictured  faca  with  the 
same  mysterious  earnestness  that,  in  his  gaze  at  herself 
had  so  puzzled  her,  she  would  have  wondered  a  great  deal 
more. 

He  made  those  studies  of  the  portrait  because  some 
how,  Ned's  face,  when  occasionally  at  table  it  was  raised 
with  such  a  commiserating  expression  to  his  own,  strangely 
resembled  the  portrait,  and  he  studied  the  latter  to  as 
sure  himself  that  he  was  not  mistaken. 

Ned  had    written  to  Dyke  more    than    once — long, 


378  A.   FATAL    BESEMBLAJfCE. 

fond,  faithful  letters,  descriptive  of  everything  about 
herself,  and  he  rejoiced  in  her  happiness. 

"  They  cannot  have  told  her  yet  of  the  relationship  she 
bears  to  Mr.  Edgar,"  he  soliloquized,  as  her  letters  spoke 
of  him  as  Mr.  Edgar,  and  nothing  more,  "  and  perhaps 
it  is  as  well,"  he  "continued  ;  "  she  is  as  happy  without 
knowing  it." 

And  his  answers  to  her  were  all  that  her  affectionate 
heart  could  wish  them  to  be. 

When  Alan  returned  to  Weewald  Place,  his  efforts  suc 
ceeded  in  winning  Mr.  Edgar  somewhat  from  his  seclu 
sion,  and  Ned  had  further  opportunities  of  paying  him 
little,  kindly  attentions.  Once,  as  she  met  him  on  her 
way  to  put  a  letter  in  the  mail-bag,  she  dropped  it  acci 
dentally,  and  he,  stooping  for  it,  saw  the  name  "  Dykard 
Dutton."  He  seemed  painfully  startled  as  he  lifted  it, 
and  returned  it  to  her  hand. 

"Dykard  Dutton,"  he  repeated  ;  "  do  you  write  to  him 
frequently '?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  responded  with  a  smile,  "  he  was  the  first 
companion  of  my  childhood,  and  ever  since  he  has  been 
my  brother." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  somewhat  quickly  ;  "  I  know, 
I  remember  all  that.  And  he  had  an  aunt,  an  old  woman, 
who  was  kind  to  you,  too.  Invite  them  both  here.  Say 
that  I  desire  very  earnestly  that  they  should  come." 

"  His  aunt,  poor  old  Me«j,"  replied  Ned,  "  is  not  herself 
any  more  ;  she  has  softening  of  the  brain,  the  doctors 
say.  But  I  shall  give  your  kind  invitation  to  Dyke." 

"  Softening  of  the  brain,"  repeated  Edgar,  as  if  he  were 
speaking  to  himself,  and  then  he  put  his  hand  to  his  fore 
head,  and  passed  it  back  and  forth  for  a  moment,  as  if 
he  might  be  trying  to  realize  that  his  brain,  with  its 
constant  weight  of  harrowing  images,  might  not  also  be 
softening.  Then  he  turned  away,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 

"  Invite  them  Ii3re  very  soon." 

But  to  that  invitation  which  Ned  hastened  to  tender, 
Dyke  replied  very  respectfully  and  very  gratefully  that 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  3T9 

it  would  be  most  inconvenient  for  him  to  accept  it  at 
present,  this  being  the  brisk  season  of  his  business,  and 
that  for  Meg,  a  change  from  her  own  accustomed  sur 
roundings  would  hardly  be  well  for  her.  He  had  writ 
ten  the  truth  strictly,  but  he  did  not  add  that  he  was  glad 
at  being  enabled  so  to  write.  ]STed  was  happy,  and  work 
and  absence  from  her,  were  the  best  things  for  him. 

So,  the  quiot,  short  winter  days  went  on  in  Weewald 
Place,  and  whatever  little  gossip  had  ensued  among  the 
servants  relative  to  Mrs.  Carnew,  who,  from  having  been 
deemed  so  dreadful  and  guilty,  was  now,  in  a  senso,  the 
honored  mistress  of  them  all,  had  been  most  secret,  for 
they  all  remembered  the  summary  way  in  which  Mr.  Ed 
gar  had  treated  the  last  newsmonger.  Old  Mackay  had 
made  it  his  business  to  tell  them  that  Mrs.  Carnew  had 
been  wronged,  and  that  she  was  not  the  mother  of  his 
grandchild. 

In  the  midst  of  this  quiet  life  came  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Doloran,  giving  information  of  her  intended  marriage  to 
Ordotte  in  a  fortnight,  and  begging  Alan  and  his  wife 
to  be  present  at  the  ceremony.  It  was  accompanied  by 
another  letter  from  Ordotte,  couched  in  amusing  style, 
and  also  begging  the  pleasure  of  the  company  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Carnew.  He  had  induced  his  affianced  to  have  the 
ceremony  quite  an  informal  affair,  and  to  let  Rahandabed 
to  some  responsible  parties  while  they  should  be  abroad 
on  their  wedding  tour.  She  had  begged  to  be  taken  to 
India,  to  look  with  her  own  eyes  upon  the  scenes  of  the 
wonderful  stories  she  had  heard,  and  Ordotte  intended  to 
gratify  her.  That  news  determined  Alan  upon  leaving 
Weewald  Place  for  a  few  days,  and  Ned.  could  not  refuse 
to  accompany  him. 

But  Edgar,  when  lie  heard  that  even  Mrs.  Carnew  was 
going  away  for  a  little,  seemed  to  be  strangely  affected, 
lie  took  her  hand  with  a  touching  childishness,  and  hold 
ing  it  fast,  he  looked  into  her  face  for  some  moments 
without  speaking.  Then  he  asked,  using  his  voice  with 
difficulty : 


380  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  gone  ?  " 

She  turned  to  her  husband,  who  replied  for  her : 

"  Two  weeks." 

He  sighed  then,  but  said  no  more. 

LXI. 

Love,  or  some  equally  powerful  influence,  had  so  mas 
tered  Mrs.  Doloran,  that  Ned  hardly  recognized  in  the 
unusually  quiet-mannered,  and  what  was  even  more  un 
usual,  the  low-spoken  woman,  who  met  her  with  a  succes 
sion  of  embraces,  the  loud,  imperious  creature  she  had 
left.  Even  her  dress  had  undergone  a  marked  change  ; 
its  color  and  its  mode  were  not  in  their  wonted  grotesque 
contrast  to  those  about  her,  and  she  looked  decidedly  bet 
ter  in  consequence. 

As  Raliandabed  was  to  pass  so  speedily  into  the  tem 
porary  possession  of  strangers,  all  of  the  guests  had  gone 
except  the  few  specially  invited  to  be  present  at  the  wed 
ding,  and  immediately  on  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony, 
and  the  subsequent  breakfast,  everybody  would  take  his 
or  her  departure. 

The  day  before  the  wedding,  Ordotte  and  Alan  had  a 
private  conference,  during  which  the  former  attempted 
to  transfer  to  his  companion  the  little  vial  of  essence. 

Alan  declined  to  take  it. 

"  Of  what  use  is  it  to  me  ? "  he  said.  My  happiness 
nor  my  love  of  Ned  would  not  be  increased  by  having  it 
proved  that  she  is  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter.  I  would  rather 
she  should  not  know  it,  for  then,  perhaps,  he  will  not  bur 
den  her  with  property  of  which  she  has  no  need,  /am 
as  rich  as  he  is,  and  I  want  iny  wife  to  be  beholden  only 
to  me." 

"  Still,  take  it,  my  dear  fellow.  You  do  not  know 
what  circumstances  may  arise  in  which  you  may  wish  to 
have  it." 

And  he  continued  to  press  it  in  such  a  manner  that  Car- 
new  at  length  accepted  it, 


A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  381 

That  same  day  a  letter  arrived  to  Alan  from  young 
Brekbellew. 

"  I  am  in  wonderful  luck,"  the  epistle  ran  ;  "  my  uncle 
thinks  I  have  done  so  well  in  America,  that  I  deserve  a 
lift  from  him,  and  he  has  taken  a  fancy  to  McArtlmr. 
Together  I  think  they  will  make  a  sort  of  Aladdin's  for 
tune  for  me.  He  insists  on  McArthur  dining  with  him 
three  times  a  week,  and  he  has  a  wonderful  spread  for  us. 
My  cousin,  Harry  Brekbellew,  and  his  wife,  live  with 
him.  He  made  them  come  over  from  Paris,  when  lie 
heard  that  Harry  had  lost  nearly  all  his  fortune  there, 
and  he  has  actually  compelled  the  poor  fellow  to  work  as 
a  clerk  in  his  counting-house.  McArthur  and  myself 
sometimes  drop  in  there  to  see  poor  Harry  perspiring  and 
secretly  swearing  over  his  toil.  His  beautiful  wife,  whose 
extravaganc3  in  Paris,  they  say,  was  the  main  cause  of  the 
ruin,  has  a  most  desolate  life,  that  is,  for  one  of  her  gay  tem 
perament,  in  my  uncle's  house.  She  has  no  society,  my 
friend  and  I  being  the  only  ones  ever  invited,  has  only 
a  meagre  allowance,  and  expresses  in  her  face  her  dread 
ful  unhappiness.  I  think  my  uncle  gloats  over  it  all. 
Mrs.  Brekbellew  has  not  the  tact  to  please  the  old  man, 
and  he  retaliates  by  twitting  her  sarcastically  on  her  pres 
ent  privations.  I  tried  to  talk  about  you  several  times, 
but  the  topic  seems  to  displease  Mrs.  Brekbellow,  for  she 
always  either  turns  it,  or  leaves  the  room.  Harry  is 
pleased  enough  to  talk  about  you  ;  he  told  me  that  you 
were  married  to  a  lady  bearing  the  same  maiden  name 
that  his  wife  did,  and  who  resembled  her  closely  in  ap 
pearance. 

"  When  you  were  with  us  on  the  mountains  we  thought 
you  were  a  bachelor  like  ourselves,  but  some  day  McArthur 
aid  I  shall  claim  the  privilege  and  pleasure  of  being  in 
troduced  to  Mrs.  Carnew. 

"  Answer  as  speedily  as  you  can. 
"  Your  friend, 

BREKBELLEW." 


A  FATAL  RESEMBLANCE!. 

Alan  showed  that  letter  to  his  wife.  She  was  so 
happy  that  she  could  afford  to  pity  sincerely  the  unhappy 
Mrs.  Biekbellew,  and  a  tear  of  commiseration  fell  upon 
the  letter. 

"  She  deserves  it  all,"  said  Alan,  savagely. 

Mrs.  Doloran  became  Mrs.  Ordotte,  and  she  seemed  to 
become  her  new  honor  well ;  she  was  blushing  and  radi 
ant  as  a  much  more  youthful  bride  might  have  been,  and 
she  leaned  upon  her  husband's  arm  with  all  the  grace  of 
one  who,  having  gone  through  the  ceremony  a  second 
time,  might  be  supposed  to  know  how  to  avoid  every 
awkwardness  of  such  an  ordeal. 

When  the  hour  came  for  her  departure,  her  farewells 
were  characterized  by  a  feeling  unusually  sincere,  and 
that  made  her  nephew  experience  for  her  a  deeper  throb 
of  affection  than  he  had  felt  perhaps  ever  before. 

And  so  Kahandabed  was  left  at  length  to  the  care  alone 
of  the  servants  whos3  task  it  was  to  prepare  it  for  the 
reception  of  its  future  temporary  owners,  and  while  Mrs. 
Ordotte  was  whirled  with  her  husband  to  New,  York, 
Mrs.  Carnew,  with  her  husband,  returned  to  Weewald 
Place.  There,  Alan  united  with  Ned  in  contributing  to 
Mr.  Edgar's  happiness;  but  the  poor,  blighted  gentle 
man  seemed  incapable  of  responding  to  their  efforts,  and 
he  continued  to  sink  until  he  could  no  longer  leave  his 
bed.  Then  Ned  constituted  herself  his  chief  nurse,  and 
the  old  man  grew  to  feel  that  no  voice  was  so  soothing, 
no  touch  so  tender  as  was  hers.  Sometimes  lie  caught 
her  hands,  and  held  them  while  he  looked  into  her  face 
with  such  melancholy  wistfulness  that  she  was  fain  to 
turn  her  eyes  away.  Alan  was  sometimes  present  on 
those  occasions,  and  he  also  was  fain  to  turn  away  from 
the  wistful  look  ;  to  him  it  conveyed  so  plainly  the  strug 
gle  of  the  father  to  claim  that  which  he  still  strangely 
hesitated  to  be  convinced  was  his  own. 

One  evening,  when  Ned  had  retired  for  a  little,  leaving 
her  husband  with  the  invalid,  the  latter  said  suddenly 


A.     FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 


383 


and  with  a  much  stronger  voice  than  he  had  used  for 
some  time : 

"  If  Ordotte  were  here  I  would  have  him  apply  the 
essence  of  which  he  spoke,  to  Mrs.  Oarnew." 

"  He  gave  the  essence  into  my  charge,"  replied  Alan. 

"  Did  he  ? "  speaking  with  a  sort  of  joyful  animation, 
and  raising  himself  slightly  in  the  bed.  "  Then,  Alan, 
you  can  apply  it  to-morrow ;  but  do  not  let  her  know 
our  object ;  pretend  that  it  is  only  to  test  the  power  of 
this  wonderful  drug — that  it  forms  letters  which  speedily 
erase  themselves.  Can  you  ?  Will  you  do  so  ? " 

He  raised  himself  still  more,  and  he  looked  with  wild 
longing  into  the  face  beside  him. 

"  Yes  ; "  said  Alan,  feeling  that  it  would  be  no  difficult 
task  to  keep  from  Ned  the  true  object  of  the  application. 

So,  the  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  Carnew 
told  his  wife  of  Mr.  Edgar's  desire,  and  unsuspicious 
Ned  saw  in  it  only  the  vagary  of  a  sick  man ;  in  his 
various  travels  he  possibly  had  obtained  the  drug,  and 
now  in  his  illness  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  test  its  re 
puted  properties.  Such  was  the  impression  which  she 
retained  when  Alan  finished  speaking,  though  he  had  not 
said  more  than  Mr.  Edgar  wished  to  test  the  power  of 
an  Indian  essence  by  applying  it  to  her.  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  to  wonder  why  the  application  should  be 
made  more  to  her  than  to  Alan,  or  to  Mr.  Edgar  himself, 
for  she  gave  the  subject  no  further  thought  than  to  assent 
smilingly  her  readiness  to  submit  to  the  test. 

And  when  an  hour  later,  in  Mr.  Edgar's  room,  Alan 
asked  her  to  bare  her  left  wrist  for  the  application,  she 
did  so  with  the  same  unsuspicious  readiness  with  which 
she  had  heard  about  the  essence  at  the  breakfast-table. 
Had  her  eyes  been  lifted  from  the  hand  she  was  extend 
ing,  to  the  prematurely  aged  face  watching  Irjr  from  the 
bed,  she  must  surely  have  felt  that  there  was  some  un 
usual  significance  in  the  proceeding,  but  they  were  not 
lifted,  and  it  was  with  the  very  brightest  of  smiles  she 
watched  the  tiny  vial  in  her  husband's  hand.  She  did 


384: 


A   FATAL    KESEMBLANCE. 


wonder  a  little  that  his  hand  should  be  so  tremulous,  but 
even  that  momentary  wonder  was  absorbed  in  the  inter 
est  with  which  she  watched  the  dropping  of  the  liquid. 
Over  what  a  surface  that  single  drop  spread  !  And  what 
a  vivid  color  it  produced !  And  would  it  do  what  she  had 
been  told  it  so  wondrously  did — form  letters  on  human 
ilesh  ?  Yes ;  there  they  came,  two  capital  E's  in  garnet 
color,  distinctly  visible  upon  her  wrist  as  if  they  had 
been  printed  there.  Alan  looked  at  Edgar.  He  was 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  the  bed,  his  face  convulsively 
working,  and  his  hands  clutching  the  air. 

"  Take  her  away,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  and  tell  her  who 
she  is  ;  then  bring  her  back  to  me." 

As  if  exhausted  from  his  effort  to  speak,  he  fell  back 
heavily,  his  head  sinking  among  the  pillows  like  one  who 
had  lost  consciousness.  But  to  Alan,  who  hung  above 
him  in  alarm,  he  motioned  to  have  Ned  taken  away. 

Roused  at  length  to  the  fact  that  something  extraordi 
nary  was  being  enacted,  and  suddenly  and  strangely  op 
pressed,  Ned  looked  at  her  husband,  piteously  begging : 

"  What  is  it,  Alan  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  he  put  his  arm  about  her 
to  reassure  her,  and  then  ringing  the  handbell  just  with 
in  his  reach  for  the  nurse  who  occupied  the  adjoining 
room,  he  drew  his  wife  gently  out  of  the  apartment,  tak 
ing  her  to  the  library,  where,  still  holding  her  to  him, 
he  told  her  the  whole  story  of  her  birth,  and  what  Or- 
dotte  had  discovered. 

"  And  /am  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,"  she  said  in  a  dazed 
way,  when  Alan  had  finished. 

"  Yes ;  you  are  Mr.  Edgar's  daughter,  and  ever  since 
we  have  been  in  this  house  he  lias  been  struggling  des 
perately  with  his  conviction  of  that  fact.  But  he  is 
quite  assured  now,  and  ha  is  waiting  for  you,  Ned." 

She  rose  from  his  knee  where  he  had  held  her,  and  she 
went  in  an  unsteady  way  to  the  door ;  then  she  looked 
back  at  where  her  husband  still  sat,  and  extending  her 
arms  to  him  she  cried  : 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  385 

"  O  Alan  !  my  husband !  come  with  me ;  I  cannot  meet 
my  father,  knowing  him  to  be  such,  without  you." 

He  went  to  her,  and  caught  her  in  his  hands. 

"  My  brave  little  Ned,"  he  said,  "  Heaven  at  length 
has  done  you  justice." 

Then  he  accompanied  her  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Edgar's 
room  ;  further  he  refused  to  go,  saying : 

"  Your  meeting  this  time  will  be  too  sacred  for  wit 
nesses." 

And  she  was  forced  to  enter  alone. 

Mr.  Edgar  seemed  to  be  asleep ;  the  nurse  whispered 
that  she  thought  he  was  asleep,  and  then,  in  obedience  to 
Mrs.  Carnew's  wish,  she  retired,  and  Mrs.  Carnew  stood 
looking  down  at  the  white,  still  face.  It  was  so  white 
and  still,  that  it  made  her  tremble  even  more  than  she 
had  done  on  her  entrance  to  the  room.  "What  if  it  were 
death  that  made  it  look  so,  and  that  he  should  never 
wake  to  tell  her  with  his  own  lips  that  he  now  fully  be 
lieved  her  to  be  his  daughter.  She  stooped  to  him  until 
her  breath  fanned  his  face.  He  stirred,  and  woke,  look 
ing  at  her  in  a  bewildered  and  half  unconscious  manner 
for  a  few  moments ;  then  his  memory  seemed  to  return, 
and  his  eyes  regained  their  old  earnest,  wistful  look.  At 
length,  it  all  came  back  ;  the  scene  of  an.  hour  before,  his 
own  wild  emotions  soothed  by  the  opiate  the  nurse  had 
administered,  and  his  impatience — before  he  had  fallen 
into  that  slumber — to  have  Ned  made  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  her  birth.  He  lifted  up  his  arms  to  her,  and 
cried  huskily : 

"  My  daughter." 

"My  father." 

She  responded,  as  she  wound  her  arms  about  him,  and 
shed  upon  his  breast  her  happy  tears 

LXII. 

Now  that  his  doubt  was  gone,  that  he  possessed  in  Ned 
a  daughter  in  whom  he  constantly  discovered  new  re- 


386  A   FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

semblances  to  her  idolized  mother,  Mr.  Edgar  seemed  to 
rally.  He  was  able  to  leave  his  bed  for  a  portion  of  each 
day,  and  he  insisted  upon  inviting  Dyke  and  Meg  to 
make  their  home  in  "Weewald  Place.  Failing  that,  they 
must  at  least  promise  to  spend  some  weeks  witli  Mr.  Ed 
gar  ;  and  Ned,  when  she  had  written  the  letter,  was  ob 
liged  to  read  it  to  her  father  to  assure  him  that  she  had 
made  the  invitation  most  urgent  ;  but  even  then  he  was 
not  satisfied  until  he  had  appended  in  his  own  trembling 
hand  a  repetition  of  the  invitation,  and  Ned,  in  the  pri 
vacy  of  her  own  room,  wrote  again  beneath  that  : 

"  By  all  the  love  you  have  ever  borne  me,  Dyke,  do 
not  refuse  this  favor  ;  my  happiness  cannot  be  complete 
until  you  and  dear  old  Meg  are  here  to  witness  it  ;  so,  if 
you  will  not  make  your  home  with  us,  at  least  come  to  us 
for  a  little  while.  Come  and  see  my  father. 

"  Your  own 


And  Dyke,  when  he  read  the  letter,  could  not  refuse 
her. 

"  Since,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  will  gratify  her  so 
much,  why  should  we  not  go  for  a  little  while  ?  " 

And  he  put  her  letter  away  and  strove  to  be  happy  in 
the  thought  of  her  great  happiness  ;  but,  despite  his  ef 
forts  there  remained  the  old  pain  in  his  heart  ;  for  Ned 
was  so  dear,  and  his  nature  was  so  strong  and  tender,  it 
was  still  hard  to  let  her  be  to  him  only  the  sister  she 
supposed  herself  to  be.  But  his  feelings  were  known 
alone  to  his  own  secret  soul  ;  not  a  word,  not  a  sign  should 
ever  betray  to  any  one  his  hopeless  love.  Being  a  part 
ner  in  the  firm,  he  could  easily  arrange  for  a  fortnight's 
absence,  and  lie  departed  for  the  little  mountain  home  in 
order  to  bring  Meg  to  Barrytown. 

When  he  arrived  in  Saugerties,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  a  crowd  gathered  almost  in  front  of  the  post-office, 
and  still  more  surprised  to  learn  that  the  object  of  the 
gathering  was  to  witness  the  castigation  then  being  vigor 
ously  administered  to  some  victim.  Dyke  worked  his 


A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE.  387 

way  to  the  front  of  the  crowd,  and  beheld  with  new  as 
tonishment  that  the  subject  who  writhed  beneath  the 
lashing  strokes  of  a  stout  whip,  was  his  old  enemy,  Pat 
ten.  The  man  who  was  giving  the  punishment  was  the 
stout,  powerfully-built  smith  of  the  village,  and  one  of 
Button's  numerous  friends.  He  was  spurred  on  to  Lls 
work  by  the  delighted  cries  of  the  spectators,  but  more 
than  aJl  by  the  enthusiastic  applause  of  old  blind  Patter 
son,  to  whom  the  strokes  of  the  whip  as  they  fell  seemed 
to  convey  as  much  as  if  he  actually  saw  the  proceeding. 

"  Don't  spare  him,"  urged  Patterson,  "  let  his  scurvy 
hide  have  it  for  his  treatment  of  honest  Dutton.  Give 
it  to  him  well.  Don't  let  his  body  have  a  sound  spot  in 
it." 

By  this  time,  Dutton  was  recognized,  and  a  cheer  went 
up  for  him,  while  the  castigation  went  on  with  new  vigor, 
lie  tried  to  raise  his  voice  in  behalf  of  the  miscreant,  but 
no  one  would  listen  to  him,  and  it  was  only  when  the 
smith's  arms  were  tired  of  their  work  that  Patten  was 
released.  He  was  more  dead  than  alive,  and  he  skulked 
away  like  a  miserable  cur,  not  knowing  where  to  hide 
himself,  and  followed  by  the  hoots  of  the  village  boys. 

"  It  was  I  spotted  him,  Mr.  Dutton,"  said  old  Patterson 
in  a  glow  of  delight,  as  he  wrung  Dyke's  hand,  "  just 
there  above  the  post  office ;  he  was  asking  about  some 
parties  here,  and  I  knew  his  voice,  and  I  collared  him.  I'd 
have  given  it  to  him  myself,  but  Jim,  the  smith,  just  then 
came  along,  and  he  rushed  and  got  a  cowhide  and  gave 
it  to  the  villain.  I  suppose  he  thought  we  didn't  know 
of  his  doings  or  that  you  hadn't  friends  here  to  take 
your  part,  but  he's  sensible  of  his  mistake  by  this  time, 
and  I  doir  t  think  Saugerties  will  be  cursed  by  his  pres 
ence  again." 

And  a  second  time  Dyke's  hand  was  shaken  heartily, 
while  others  pressed  about  him  to  assure  him  of  their 
satisfaction  at  the  punishment  of  the  villain. 

Meg  was  like  a  child  preparing  for  her  journey  to  Bar- 
rytown  ;  of  course,  Anne  McCabe  had  to  accompany  her? 


388  A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE. 

for  the  old  creature  was  not  capable  of  waiting  upon  her 
self,  and  one  afternoon,  when  Weewald  Place  looked  its 
brightest  in  summer  attire,  Dutton  and  his  two  humble 
companions  arrived. 

The  servants  wondered  at  the  welcome  which  these 
humble  people  received.  Princely  guests  could  not  have 
been  the  object  of  more  attention,  and  Mrs.  Carnew  was 
seen  on  numerous  occasions  to  embrace  the  old  woman. 
But  it  was  all  made  plain  when  they  were  informed, 
as  Mr.  Edgar  insisted  upon  doing  himself,  that  Mrs.  Car- 
new  was  his  daughter,  and  that  Mr.  Dutton  and  Meg 
Standish  were  the  people  with  whom  she  lived  when  a 
child.  No  further  explanation  was  vouchsafed,  and  re 
membering  the  lesson  they  had  received  regarding  indis 
criminate  gossip,  they  were  careful  to  pass  but  few  re 
marks. 

Dyke  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  warmth  with  which 
Mr.  Edgar  received  him  ;  and  he  was  touched  by  the  al 
most  abject  penitence  he  showed  for  his  former  treatment 
of  him. 

"  1  did  you  such  a  gross  wrong,  Mr.  Dutton,"  he  said, 
continuing  to  hold  Dyke's  hand,  "  you  were  the  only  one 
of  us  who  believed  in  her  always.  Do  you  remember 
when  I  offered  to  dower  her  if  you  married  her,  how 
nobly  you  refused  my  offer  ? " 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  Mr.  Edgar,"  answered  Dyke, 
averting  his  head  a  little,  and  speaking  with  slight  huski- 
iiess;  upon  that  subject  he  could  not  and  would  not 
speak.  But,  though  Edgar  respected  his  wish,  he  read 
more  than  Dyke  dreamed  he  did,  and  he  knew  now,  as  he 
felt  he  had  known  five  years  before,  that  Dutton  loved 
Ned  with  a  lover's  love. 

The  fortnight  passed,  and  Dyke  would  take  his  depart 
ure.  No  inducements  from  Edgar  and  Carnew,  no  affec 
tionate  entreaty  from  Ned  could  alter  his  determination. 
The  little  mountain  home,  he  said,  was  the  place  for  Meg, 
and  the  utmost  they  could  win  from  him  was  the  promise 
of  an  annual  visit.  Edgar  felt  that  he  knew  the  reason 


A    FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.  389 

of  Dyke's  refusal  to  make  Weewald  Place  his  home,  but 
he  also  kept  Dyke's  secret,  and  while  he  pitied  him  for 
his  silent,  hidden  suffering,  he  admired  him  for  that 
strength  of  character  which  made  him  so  firmly  reject 
the  sweet  temptation  of  being  often  in  Ned's  presence. 

A  year  elapsed ;  a  pleasant,  peaceful  year  varied  only 
by  letters  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ordotte,  in  which  was  en 
thusiastically  described  the  pleasure  that  lady  took  in  her 
Indian  travels;  indeed,  so  much  enjoyment  did  they 
afford  her,  that  it  was  possible  their  stay  would  be  pro 
longed  another  twelve  months.  Letters  had  come  also 
from  Brekbellew,  giving  glowing  accounts  of  the  regard 
in  which  his  uncle  still  continued  to  hold  him  and 
McArthur,  and  doleful  details  of  his  cousin's  married  life. 
One  letter  contained : 

"  A  rupture  between  him  and  his  wife  seems  imminent, 
not  a  little  hastened  by  the  penuriousness  and  severity  of 
his  uncle.  Young  Mrs.  Brekbellew  has  grown  daring 
and  defiant,  and  of  late  has  formed  acquaintances  not  at 
all  to  the  old  gentleman's  taste,  nor,  for  that  matter,  to 
the  taste  of  her  poor,  little,  brainless  husband.  But  these 
acquaintances  are  enabling  her  to  see  something  of  the 
gay  life  she  evidently  longs  for,  and  none  of  us  will  be 
surprised  to  hear  some  fine  morning  that  she  has  actually 
left  her  husband." 

The  prediction  seemed  to  have  been  verified  very 
shortly,  for  his  very  next  letter  contained  an  account  of 
Mrs.  Brekbellew's  flight  from  the  house  of  her  uncle,  and 
her  temporary  shelter  with  one  of  her  fashionable  ac 
quaintances. 

"  And  she  absolutely  refuses  to  see  her  husband,"  the 
letter  continued,  uand  report  is  already  busy  coupling  her 
name  with  that  of  a  dashing  military  officer." 

That  letter  Carnew  showed  neither  to  his  wife  nor  to 
Mr.  Edgar. 

The  end  came  suddenly  to  Mr.  Edgar ;  so  suddenly 
that  the  physicians,  in  making  an  autopsy,  said  he  had  de 
veloped  a  new  and  sudden  affection  of  the  heart ;  and 


390  A    FATAL    RESEMBLANCE. 

when  his  will  was  read,  it  was  found  that  he  had  be 
queathed  his  fortune  to  Dykard  Dutton.  "  For,"  the 
paper  ran,  "  knowing  that  my  beloved  daughter  is  amply 
secured  in  the  love  and  fortune  of  her  husband,  I  would 
do  a  late  justice  to  the  man  who  so  nobly  has  proved  him 
self  worthy  of  my  regard." 

The  bequest  of  his  wealth,  while  it  was  a  delight  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnew,  was  an  intense  surprise,  and  even 
a  source  of  some  regret  to  Dyke,  for  it  placed  him  above 
the  necessity  of  pursuing  any  business.  But  his  active 
mind  soon  found  outlets  for  his  means  in  schemes  of 
benevolence,  and  his  leisure  was  employed  in  the  scientific 
studies  which  he  liked  so  well. 

Not  even  then  would  he  consent  to  make  Weewald 
Place  his  home,  nor  even  after  Meg's  death,  which  took 
place  quietly  and  painlessly.  He  preferred  his  home 
among  the  mountains  he  said,  which  home  he  enlarged 
and  beautified,  so  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carnew  could  spend 
a  part  of  each  summer  season  with  him. 

McArthur  and  Brekbellew  found  so  many  inducements 
to  remain  in  England,  that  they  did  not  return  for  some 
years,  and  then  Brekbellew  showed  Carnew  a  paragraph 
from  a  French  paper. 

"  Died  in  one  of  the  hospitals  here,  of  cancer  in  the 
face,  a  Mrs.  Brekbellew.  Her  maiden  name  was  Edna 
Edgar,  and  she  is  said  to  have  been  once  a  great  heiress, 
and  a  woman  of  extraordinary  beauty." 

One  day,  Carnew  received  a  letter  from  a  Catholic 
priest  in  New  York.  It  contained  news  that  made  the 
last  link  in  the  chain  of  superabundant  evidence  of  Ned's 
innocence. 

The  letter  ran : 

"  I  am  desired,  dear  sir,  by  a  woman  named  Anne  Bun- 
mer,  to  state  to  you  some  facts  the  concealment  of  which 
has  troubled  her  conscience.  These  facts  refer  to  her  as 
sertions  of  the  identity  of  Mrs.  Carnew  with  a  Mrs. 
Mackay. 

"  She  desires  me  to  tell  you  that,  when  confronted  with 


A   FATAL   RESEMBLANCE.          ,  391 

Mrs.  Carnew,  she  was  perfectly  convinced  that  lady,  though 
very  closely  resembling  Mrs.  Mackay,  was  not  Mrs.  Mac 
kay,  but  that,  fearing  to  lose  the  remuneration  which  she 
hoped  to  get  for  her  care  of  Mrs.  Mackay's  child,  she 
persisted  in  her  false  charge.  Her  fear  of  detection  made 
her  flee  from  C ,  and  her  conscience  afterward  so  tor 
mented  her,  that  she  has  at  length  requested  me  to  inform 
you  of  the  truth. 

"  Respectfully, 

"  REV.  CHAS.  A.  HARRINGTON." 

Alan  hastened  to  show  the  letter  to  Ned,  and  both 
thought  with  thankful,  swelling  hearts,  how  ample  and 
how  complete  was  the  justice  that  had  been  rendered  for 
that  foul  wrong. 

There  is  little  more  to  be  told.  The  Ordottes  returned 

to  open  again  an  hospitable  mansion  in  C ,  but  one 

conducted  on  less  indiscriminate  principles  than  in  former 
days,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  our  heroes  and  our 
heroine  lived  for  many  years  in  the  enjoyment  of  that 
happiness  which  must  come  at  some  time  from  a  life  of 
rectitude. 


L  "7  -7 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


